


We Touched the Starlight

by Exdraghunt



Category: Starlight Express - Phillips/Stilgoe/Webber
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Multi, Robot Sex, before each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7851235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exdraghunt/pseuds/Exdraghunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One shots, moments, and scenes set before, during, and after Greased Lightning. Characters, pairings, and rating before each chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Poppa McCoy's Sexual Education Class

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I should add a "How does babby work" somewhere, just for reference. And who better to talk about it than an old hand at such things, Poppa McCoy

Poppa McCoy's Sexual Education class  
Characters: Poppa and Rusty  
Pairings: implied Rusty/Pearl and Poppa/Belle  
Rating: Mature

 

“Poppa, I don’t get it.” Rusty slouched down onto the tracks next to the small shed he had been gifted with in return for winning the race. He had, of course, given the structure to the older engine and usually stayed with Pearl, but some days he needed the advice of his mentor. “How did Greaseball end up pregnant? I didn’t know engines could do that.”

Poppa sighed. He should’ve guessed this day would come. Rusty had reached sexual maturity years before, was considered an adult engine in every way. In the days of steam, he had no doubt the younger engine would’ve been quite the coaches-engine, varnish hanging off his arms and trying to talk their way into his berth. 

But the years of steam were long past, and Rusty had never needed to learn of such things. He had been sheltered, in their small trainyard where the years seemed to have little effect. Poppa had never talked of it with him, wanting, in some way, to see the young engine remain innocent of such things. His own fault, really. He should’ve known it wouldn’t last forever. 

“I should have told you about this a long time ago, Rusty.” Poppa heaved himself to his wheels, getting ready for ‘the talk.’ It wasn’t the first time he’d needed to tell young rolling stock about the details of sex, though he hadn’t done it in a long time. “You’ve learned some of the basics by now, I hope? All trainfolk have a spike and a valve. Surely you’ve explored yours a little bit?”

Rusty flushed red, steam hissing from his joints in embarrassment. “Uh, m-maybe a little bit.”

“Nothing wrong with that, son. Just a normal part of being alive.” Poppa gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Soon enough, I’m sure you’ll be exploring Pearl’s too.”

The poor younger steamer buried his face in his hands, clearly already regretting having asked the question in the first place. 

“Anyways, connected to your spike is your supply tank, and to your valve is the gestation chamber.” Poppa decided to stop teasing his student and moved on with the lesson. “Your supply tank is where you keep all the metals for keeping your body maintained. What your repair system doesn’t use, comes out as cum. You’ve overloaded before in your explorations, I hope?”

There was a high pitched noise from the mortified ball of steamer on the berth, which Poppa took as a yes. 

“Well, ideally all that cum goes into your partner’s valve. Though you can do some other fun things with it too.” Poppa paused for a moment, remembering good times past, before shaking himself out of it. That could wait for a future lesson, Rusty had specifically asked about reproduction. “The gestation chamber is a different construct. It’s made for one thing, building babies. Get enough metals in ya that your supply tank can’t handle it anymore, that can trigger your reproductive system to activate. Or, you can get the humans to turn it on manually if you really want a little one.”

“S-so. If you have a lot of . .. sex? Then?” Rusty ventured, interested despite his embarrassment at the whole subject. 

“A lot of sex in a short period of time. And you have to be in good repair, otherwise those metals will be taken by your repair system instead. S’why we don’t see pregnant rolling stock in the yards too often, daily work keeps the repair systems busy.” Poppa could remember back in the days when there had been a breeding program, of sorts, kept up by the railroad. Coaches and engines going in for their overhauls would be repaired, then have their systems turned on so they would produce a child before going back to work. But those days were long past, and railroads didn't build their own equipment anymore. “I’m going to guess Greaseball had a real good night some months ago with that Electra. Then he got an overhaul not long after, so his repair system had nothing to do.”

Rusty really, really didn’t need to think about Greaseball and Electra going at it. He’d already seen plenty at the stargazing hill a few nights before. 

“Then, once you get knocked up, you keep having regular sex. Get the sire to contribute metals and materials to the little ones.” Poppa continued on, ignoring Rusty’s disgust. “Gonna bet that’s why Greaseball was so irritable until his mate came back.”

“Wait, you mean the whole reason he was so pissed off all the time and shoving the freight around was because-?” Rusty had just thought it was because Greaseball was an asshole, though that had seemed a little extreme even for him. 

“Cause he was horny and needed a good spiking.” Poppa nodded sagely. 

That was all Rusty could take. He hopped off the berth and made for the door, cheeks burning red and steam pressure pushing at his safeties.

“You go find that Pearl now and tell her what you learned!” Poppa hollered after his student, before leaving the shed himself to go track down Belle.


	2. The Seduction of Greaseball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the night before the big race, and a sullen Greaseball finds a little more than he expected at the big celebration party. 
> 
> Pairings: Greaseball/Electra  
> Rating: Explicit  
> Kinks: Minor Cumflation, Drunk! Sex

The coach shed was loud and rocking, music bursting out the seams and high grade flowing like water. It was the night before the Big Race, the finals of the World Championships, and everyone was celebrating. Even the engines who hadn’t made the cut were there, drowning their sorrows in drink and watching the pretty coaches dance. 

Greaseball had planted himself at a table early on, can of high grade in hand, and only bothered to get up to retrieve more. Normally, he loved these parties. Dinah would be there on his arm, beautiful as always, and everyone would compliment his speed and good looks. But things weren’t going as planned. Dinah wasn’t there. Greaseball knew he’d been the one to leave her, after she’d taken issue with the measures he took to stay on top, but it still irked him. Because that meant that she was free for Electra to snap up. 

At least the diesel had managed to get Pearl in the bargain, though the observation car was noticeably absent from the party. Probably off moping over her “dream engine.” Either way, it left Greaseball alone when he should’ve been being fawned over. 

Things would be better tomorrow, after the race. CB would wreck the little steamer, Greaseball would kick that arrogant electric engine’s ass, and diesel would be king of the train yard again. 

Speak of the devil. The lights in the shed flickered dramatically, flashing and illuminating the door to reveal Electra posing with his components around him. Greaseball groaned and rolled his eyes, knocking back another can of high grade. At least Dinah wasn’t there, hanging off the electric’s arm the way Pearl had in the days previous. The dining car had arrived earlier, sitting in the corner with a few other coaches and keeping mostly to herself. 

Irritably, Greaseball realized that he’d finished off his can. As he was about to stand to get another, however, someone plunked a fresh can in front of him before taking the other seat at the table. 

“What the-?” Greaseball looked up to see the very object of his ire sitting there. Electra crossed his legs casually, taking a sip from his own drink. The strongest offered by the bartender, Greaseball noted. The electric engine could either hold his high-grade very well, or was arrogantly confident. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d see how a little trainyard throws a party.” Electra leaned back in his chair, draining the rest of his drink in one impressive go. Almost instantly, one of his components was at his elbow with another. “Not bad. Are you going to drink?” He gestured to the untouched can in front of Greaseball.

Greaseball didn’t particularly want to accept the drink, but couldn’t deny that he could really use some more high grade. He cracked open the can and took a long sip. “So, what? You’re going to sit here and get chummy tonight before we’re at each other’s throats again tomorrow?”

“We could get more than just chummy.” Electra leaned closer, lowering his voice and raising his eyebrows suggestively. Greaseball found himself unable to look away from the electric’s glowing blue eyes and sparkling faceplates. “We can fight tomorrow, but that’s no reason not to make up tonight.”

All that drink must’ve been getting to him, because Greaseball couldn’t seem to pull away. Couldn’t slap down the hand that came up to cup his cheek, or turn away from the lips that pressed against his. Electra was a surprisingly good kisser, for an electric engine. Firm, unlike the most of the coaches that Greaseball had been with, rather than soft and pliant. The diesel parted his lips, allowing Electra’s tongue entrance, and was embarrassed to feel a light moan slip from him. Starlight, the electric was good at this.

“Shall we go into the back room?” Electra tugged Greaseball to his wheels, steadying the diesel when he swayed. Apparently, he had been here drinking since the very start of the party, because Electra could feel that the diesel was quite drunk. 

Fortunately, the back room was empty. Greaseball steered towards the berth, attempting to push Electra down onto it, but his coordination appeared to have left him. Instead, he ended up on his ass on the berth, pulling Electra down on top of him. The electric laughed, shifting to be a little more comfortable on top of the other engine, and let his knee press against Greaseball’s warm codpiece. He paused, though, when the diesel suddenly seemed uncomfortable. 

“What’s wrong?” Electra asked with concern. He leaned back a little on his kneepads, rubbing his hands along Greaseball’s powerful chest and abdomen. “I thought you were here to have fun?”

“Jus’. . .wierd.” Because the engine over him was very attractive, sensual and elegant, but he was still. An engine. Greaseball hadn’t been with another engine in years, it reminded him of times long since past. Times that weren’t always the best. “You. Aren’t a coach.”

So that’s what it was. Electra didn’t know much about the big diesel, but knew he was a passenger engine. And passenger engines rarely got into relationships with other engines. They were expected to hook up with pretty coaches, after all. The public face of the railway, had to look good and wholesome to the humans. 

“Come, surely you’ve been with other engines before?” Electra leaned down and nibbled on Greaseball’s collar join, making the diesel gasp and throw his head back. “We have all the same bits coaches do.”

That wasn’t it, wasn’t quite what was bothering Greaseball. But the high-grade dimmed the old memories, and removed his inhibitions. He moved out from under the other engine, trying to take control, but none of his limbs seemed to want to cooperate with him. Perhaps he had, in fact, drank too much while at the party. The diesel managed to find his knees, but suddenly his head spun and he had to put his hands on the berth to stay stable. 

“That was some high-grade, wasn’t it?” Electra chuckled, and at least the slur to his words showed that the electric wasn’t particularly sober either. “Here, maybe this will help too. Wouldn’t want you to be. . . uncomfortable.”

With the last word, Electra’s voice suddenly raised in pitch and softened a little. Greaseball stared, a little confused, as the other engine’s outline blurred and changed a little. Waist narrower, hips wider, face rounder. He raised a hand and swept it over his mohawk, making the stiff strands lose their charge to hang loosely over one side of his face. Suddenly, he looked less like an engine, and more like a coach. 

“Uh?” Maybe it was just the high-grade, but Greaseball found himself very confused indeed. But then, there was a hand on his crotch, rubbing and teasing, and the diesel forgot just what he was supposed to be confused about. “You just-“

“I can switch and change my frequency.” Electra said in a little sing-song voice, climbing up onto the berth behind the diesel engine and pressing himself up against Greaseball. “Still an engine, but not always masculine. Wouldn’t want to try and compete against all this raw, male diesel power, would I?” One hand ran up Greaseball’s thick thighs, and it was clear the diesel was very turned on by all this because it took only a touch to his codpiece for his spike to pressurize. But that wasn’t quite what Electra wanted. 

“Ever taken it from an electric?” Electra released his own spike, hissing at the sudden feel of cool air on his heated member, before palming aside the cover to Greaseball’s valve. Lubricant dripped from the diesel’s folds, already engorged and hot and ready. Good, because Electra hadn’t gotten a good fuck in ages and he was in no mood to go slow tonight. “You’re so wet already, are you really that eager for me?”

Greaseball didn’t want to wait either. He was drunk, horny, and though he hadn’t been spiked in years it suddenly sounded like a very good idea just then. “Nnnng, just do it already!”

Electra didn’t need any more instruction. His hands went around Greaseball’s thighs to steady himself as he pressed in, pushing until he had fully sheathed himself inside his partner. It wasn’t easy, for the diesel was very tight. Clearly, he didn’t take it very often. All the better, Electra was getting much more than he had expected from the evening. 

As Electra began to move, pulling out nearly completely before slamming back into his partner, charge began to build on his plating. Static zapped between the two engines, little pinpricks of electricity jumping between their metal forms, and Greaseball gasped in surprise. That was definitely something that didn’t happen when he was with a coach. Or a diesel engine for that matter. 

“Never been with an electric, have you?” Electra leaned down until his front was pressed against his partner’s back, putting him close enough to suck and lick Greaseball’s neck while a free hand worked at the diesel’s spike. “Let me show you why we are the future.”

It was a talent Electra didn’t utilize too often, for fear of injuring his partners, but a big diesel like Greaseball should be able to handle a little zap just fine. On his next thrust, Electra sent an electric current down his spike and into the sensitive metals of his mate’s valve. Greaseball howled, hips jerking as he overloaded suddenly, spike shooting thick ropes of silver cum all over Electra’s hand and the berth underneath. 

The already tight valve he was seated in clenched down around his spike, and Electra found himself crashing over the edge as well. He emptied himself into Greaseball, staying inside even as the diesel slumped a little onto his elbows and panted hard. 

“Well then-“ Electra took a deep breath, reaching up to run a hand through his hair and trying to regain his composure. “That was a good start, I think. Up for another?”

“Ready. When you are.” Greaseball pushed himself back up, pulling away from Electra’s spike and turning himself over. Good as that was, he liked being able to see his partner’s face when he fucked. Plus, he didn’t think his arms would be able to hold him up for another go. 

“And now I get to see that handsome face,” Electra grinned, laying himself on top of his partner and kissing him deeply. The electric engine was surprisingly light weight, probably one of the reasons he managed to be so fast, but still grossed a few more tons than your average coach. 

Greaseball wrapped his arms around the other engine securely, deepening the kiss, and felt liquid heat begin to pool deep in his belly. His spike began to stiffen again, extending to be sandwiched between their two bodies, and the diesel moaned into Electra’s mouth. Then again when he felt fingers at his valve. Encouraging more lubricant to drip out onto the berth, though he was already plenty slick from the last round, making sure he was good and ready for that long, smooth spike to slide back into him. 

It was rare for Greaseball to use his valve, hadn’t been spiked in years, and he had forgotten what it felt like to be stuffed so full. Electra’s spike was so far inside him, pressing against parts that hadn’t been stimulated in so long. It seemed like his belly should be bulging out from how enormous that spike felt, though he couldn’t visually confirm past the sight of Electra laying atop him.

The electric engine wasn’t an unpleasant sight to have there in front of him, not in any sense. Greaseball had initially been turned off by his ostentatious appearance, all bright colors and flashy moves. But now that he was closer, he could admire the metal flake of the electric’s paint job, glittering in the dim light, and rub his thumb over the LED scroll box that was so captivating with its constant movement. 

Electra gasped in delight as his chestbox was stroked, then tipped his head back when a hand began to run through his hair to allow Greaseball to lick at his throat. This wasn’t the direction the electric engine thought his night would go, he had thought to just sit and flirt with the champion racer for a bit and get him flustered, but Electra certainly wasn’t complaining. After all, Greaseball was incredibly attractive, and a three time World Racing Champion to boot. The next day, Electra intended to make sure he didn’t get a fourth trophy to add to his collection, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have some fun tonight. 

The two got into a steady rhythm, rocking their hips in time as mouths and hands explored. Electra’s fingers managed to find their way under the diesel’s outermost plating layer, tickling more sensitive parts inside, and was rewarded when Greaseball’s engines roared. Burning through even more of the high grade in his tanks, making the diesel’s face flush. His wandering hands got rougher, less coordinated, as they ran down the curve of Electra’s back, past the electric’s coupler belt, to cup his ass. Electra’s own head was getting a little fuzzy, and he was glad all of this was going to his internal memory storage. Otherwise, he knew he wouldn’t remember all of this tomorrow, and he wanted to save this scene forever. 

Through the warmth of the high-grade, Greaseball could feel the building heat of another overload. Starting down low, in the valve stretched as wide as it had ever been and the spike that was still trapped between the abdominal plating of both engines, before creeping up his backstrut and crashing over his body like a wave. Greaseball’s voice had almost nothing left to give as he yelled in pleasure, body shuddering and feet rolling on the berth. 

Electra got in another few thrusts before going over the edge as well, pressing in deep as he overloaded. Greaseball groaned as he was stretched further by another flood of cum, filling his supply tank and making him feel even more uncomfortably full and tight. The electric engine had more to put out than he expected, and he wondered how he would manage to hold it all. 

Both engines slumped on the berth, fans whirring as they attempted to cool over-heating systems. Barely audible over the thumping music still coming through the walls from the party outside. Electra sighed, reaching down to a storage compartment and pulling out some thin wafers of metal. He would need to eat a little something before being able to go again. 

“Crackers?” Electra offered one to Greaseball as he munched, rolling off the diesel a little to sit fully on the berth instead. The other engine just shook his head, too full to think about consuming anything else. “Suit yourself.”

Electra finished off the crackers quickly, brushing crumbs from his hands as he moved back to straddle Greaseball’s hips. He reached down to push on Greaseball’s abdomen experimentally, making the diesel groan, and grinned. “Well then, I think you have a little more room in there. Shall we test that theory?”

“Ready. When you are.” Diesel engines never backed down from a challenge, and Greaseball would not be the first to give up now. He’d go as many rounds as the electric engine could handle. 

 

The two continued on into the night, caught up in the music and the heat and the high-grade. More drink was fetched at some point, until both were giggling at each other’s lack of coordination as they attempted to continue. 

Eventually, at some point, both of them passed out on the berth. Greaseball awoke the next morning with a killer headache, an incredibly sore valve, and an uncomfortably full tank. He was also noticeably alone. 

The memories of the night were hazy, nothing more than a blur of shining plating and rocking movement. With a groan, Greaseball rolled off the berth and headed for the washrack to get shined up and ready for the big race. It was time to reclaim his spot as champion of the racing world.


	3. Post-Delivery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "What did happen after Greaseball passed out trackside? How did he and his newborn kits get back to the shed, anyway?"
> 
> Characters: Electra/Components, the kits, unconscious Greaseball. A bit of Caboose and Dinah in there too, the Gang  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: Adorable newborns? Mpreg, Breastfeeding/lactating, though the practical kind as opposed to the sexy kind. Electra with boobs.

All of the trainfolk from the Apollo Victoria yard were gathered out at the stargazing hill, loitering anxiously as they awaited orders. There had come a call over the radio, stating that the fire was now out, but no word on when engines and cars would be allowed back. If they would be allowed back. 

A suitable distraction to all the worrying and waiting had come in the form of Greaseball bursting through the crowd, paint singed, covered in soot, and in hard labor. Trainfolk were spurred into motion, getting rags and water for the newborn kits so they could be cleaned off and wrapped in something warm and dry. Coaches and cars crowded, trying to get a look at the new engines, spurring Greaseball’s Gang to close ranks around their leader to keep the lookie-loos at a safe distance. 

Electra was cradling one of the newborns, the last one who had come out breech, and looked to his mate worriedly. Greaseball had passed out almost immediately after Wrench had delivered the last kit, eyes rolling back into his head as he went limp on the ground. Electra was still sitting by him, close enough to touch, close enough to feel the hum of his mate’s systems. 

“Will he be okay?” Electra asked softly, not wanting to disturb the kit in his arms. The little one was mouthing at the electric engine’s thumb, curiously exploring this new engine that had a hold of him. 

“Yes. Just might be a while before he wakes up.” Wrench rose to her knees and started running scans on the diesel, tutting as she did so. Plucking up one of the last clean rags, she rolled it up and tucked it under his head so that it wasn’t lying on the hard ground. “The big lummox. Over stressed himself, making it that much harder to get four kits out, then passed out from exhaustion.”

“Wrench? I think this one is getting hungry.” Purse put in, indicating the kit in his hands who was squeaking unhappily. 

“Well, their carrier is going to be out for a good while. But his fuelling system should still work.” Wrench reached over and gently took the kit from the armored car, setting the little one on Greaseball’s belly. Tossing his head around and chirping, the kit was quick to find a teat and settled down to nurse hungrily. 

The other three soon joined their brother, each picking their own teat and latching on. This gave Wrench a good opportunity to run scans on them, making sure each of them was healthy despite coming out a week before their due date. 

“So, we’ve got two diesels here.” Wrench ran a finger down the backs of the two darker-colored kits, with their fine black hair and sooty-colored body panels. The first and last ones to have emerged. “This one is . . . an electro-diesel I believe.” Kit number two, born right on the heels of his brother. “And, we have one electric here.” This kit had a bright tuft of red hair on his head and shining silver body panels, to contrast darker faceplates like his sire had. “That could be a problem.”

“Problem?” Electra looked up sharply, tearing his gaze from the entrancing sight of his offspring settled on their carrier’s stomach. “What problem?”

“An electric engine can’t process diesel fuel. And won’t be getting the electrical charge needed from Greaseball’s oil.” Wrench explained, giving her master a pointed look. “He will need to be nursed from an electric engine.”

“You can do that, right? Turn on my system manually?” Electra was ready to do anything for his little ones, even if it would be uncomfortable. 

“Yes, I can.” In fact, because all of Electra’s systems were computer controlled, Wrench didn’t even have to dig into his plating. She just accessed her master’s computer through the link he shared with all his components and activated the auxiliary fuelling system. 

“Oh!” Electra looked down as he felt an odd tingling in his chest, indicating that his fuelling system was becoming active. He could feel new programming coming online, diverting material from his repair systems to his chest instead to be fed to the kits. “How long-?” 

“A few hours. The conversion process will take a little while.” Wrench gave him a quick scan, nodding when she saw that everything seemed to be working as normal, and returned her attention to the newborns. As did everyone. 

Diesel 1 (Electra didn’t want to name them yet, wanted to reserve that right for his mate once he awoke) released the teat he had been suckling on and yawned widely, rubbing his face against the soft surface of his carrier’s belly before settling down for a nap. The other diesel kit crawled over to his brother, using stubby limbs to pull himself the few inches of space between them, and curled up into his brother’s side to sleep as well. Electra was overcome with the urge to just pick them all up and cradle them in his arms, though he barely managed to resist. They also looked so comfortable, and he hated to disturb that.

“They’re so small.” Volta said in wonder, reaching down to stroke the electro-diesel. The smallest of the four. Before this, the only youngling the components had ever seen was Parcel, who was twice the size of these tiny beings. 

“It’s incredible that these four made Greaseball so fat.” Joule commented, squatting down to give one of the kit’s bitty feet a wag. The wheels there weren’t even developed yet, just little black protrusions barely discernible from the rest of the foot. 

Electra snorted, but couldn’t deny the point that his dynamite car made. And it was a little odd to see his mate without the big, rounded dome of his belly. Not that Greaseball was back to his flat abdomen by any means, his middle was just now softer and more pillow-like. The result of his gestation chamber still being swollen and full of rich fluid, which Wrench said the diesel’s body would slowly reabsorb over time to help his body return to default specs. Of course, his oiling system was also inflated, each teat sitting over the mound of the oil supply underneath. Altogether, it made his belly a very comfortable place to rest for the newborns. 

Finally, Electra couldn’t stand sitting and just watching any longer. With careful hands, he reached down and plucked the electric kit from his mate’s belly and cuddled the little one up to his chest. The kit squealed in surprise, chirping as he found himself suddenly being held. Electra’s systems were familiar though, from the months he’d spent cuddling his mate’s belly, and any warm body was appreciated by the kits. 

Then, Electra began to sing. Just something soft, quiet, but loud enough for the kits to take notice. The familiar voice, known from months in the womb, soothed them and soon all four had dropped to sleep. 

Reassured that everyone here was okay, Wrench went to check on the other two trainfolk that had been involved in the earlier chaos. CB and Dinah had settled on the ground not far away, the caboose rubbing tiredly at the bulge of his belly. Dinah had her boyfriend mostly in her lap, trying to help calm what was clearly a very active and upset set of twins. 

“How are you feeling?” Wrench asked gently as she knelt down in front of the pair, putting aside her dislike of CB in her concern for his unborn young. 

“Like I swallowed a pair of fighting octopuses, how do you think?” CB answered wryly, earning a reproachful tut from his girlfriend. “They really ain’t happy.”

“I can tell.” Wrench placed both hands on his middle, feeling the energetic movements from inside, and narrowed her eyes. The good thing was that the repair car didn’t sense any cramping or contracting of the gestation chamber, though it was a little tighter than normal. Just a result of stress, gradually the caboose would loosen up again as he relaxed. If he relaxed, out here surrounded by other rolling stock so far from his nest. “Your little ones are worked up, but okay. Just telling you how much they didn’t appreciate that marathon you just ran.”

“Not like I had much choice, doc.” CB grunted when a well-aimed kick got him right in the ribstrut. His gestation chamber took up most of his middle now, giving the twins access to all of his sensitive insides. Dinah made a sympathetic noise from behind him, adding her hands to his belly and rubbing in gentle circles. Even as he concentrated on the movement from his middle, though, CB still had a cautious eye on the trainfolk all around. Clearly made nervous by the crowds. 

“Here, why don’t I take you two for a little roll on the rails?” Wrench suggested. “The rocking motion should help calm them down, and it would do you good to get away from here for a little while.”

“You?” CB looked at the crane car in surprise. 

“Yes, me. I have an engine, I can pull other rolling stock.” Wrench rolled her eyes and stood, holding out a hand in offer. After a moment’s hesitation, the caboose took it and allowed himself to be tugged to his wheels. Wrench turned, and despite a short protest from CB that cabooses should always go at the –back- of the train, he eventually relented and hitched on with Dinah behind him. The dining car wanted to be able to keep a close eye on her mate, and felt better with him safely between two larger, stronger cars. 

Wrench alerted her master where she was going as the odd train pulled out onto the tracks heading north, reminding the electric that his fuelling system was turned on and he would need to remember to eat something to keep his supply up. A distracted mutter was the response, Electra clearly still completely enamored with his newborns, so Wrench sent the same message to Volta as well before changing radio stations to monitor chatter from the trainyard. It seemed it would be hours yet before anyone would be let back into the yard, meaning there was plenty of time for a nice, slow cruise. 

 

Electra noticed very little of what was going on around him, so entranced was he by the sleeping kit in his arms. Dimly, he could hear that the gang was cooing over the three asleep on their leader, and he hunched closer protectively. They could look, but not touch. 

As he sat there, the electric engine became aware of a growing tightness in his chest. A certain heavy ache, making his chest box feel uncomfortable. Finally, Electra shifted the kit to one arm so that he could reach up and unlatch his chest box. The heavy fiberglass piece was set aside, and Electra looked with some surprise at the change his chest had undergone in just a couple hours. His nipples, previously barely seen against the flexible plating of his front, were now large swollen nubs rivaling the teats on his mate’s belly. Under each nipple, the rubber barrier that covered his plating was bulging out due to the building oil slurry underneath. He was getting cleavage to rival some of the coaches in the yard. 

When the kit in his arms awoke, chirping and squeaking as his little mouth opened and closed, the feeling of pressure inside of Electra’s chest peaked and a bit of silver metal slurry dripped from his nipples. Electra lifted the little electric in his arms up to his chest, gasping a little as the kit latched on and began to suckle. It was. .. a strange sensation. But a pleasant one. That was his baby there, getting nourishment from his own body. And as odd as it felt, it was also very satisfying. 

“There’s a good kit.” Electra murmured, stroking a finger down the newborn’s side. That got him a muffled chirp, the little one too busy nursing to properly voice his opinion. 

 

Volta came by a little later to feed her master some treats, and had also managed to procure a diesel from a tanker car hanging out nearby. Her and Purse carefully sat near Greaseball’s head and fed the fuel to him bit by bit. Though the diesel was too deeply unconscious to really drink, his baser reflexes like swallowing still seemed to function alright. Volta gently elevated his head, earning herself a chorus of squeaks from the kits curled up on his belly, while Purse poured in the diesel in a few drops at a time. 

Electra watched the care with which his components treated his mate, a little burst of pride for each of them in his core. Joule went off to wander, and returned not long after with a large tarp that she draped over Greaseball’s lower half like a blanket. And even the dynamite tanker car had delicate hands as she tucked in the covering around the kits. 

As the sun began to set on the horizon, there was no news from the yard. It looked like they wouldn’t be going home that night. A few of the gang members hitched on some coaches and freight cars to head for the London trainyard at the other end of the line, promising to return with some water tankers and coal cars for the steamers. Everyone else found clear bits of trackside to bed down for the night. 

Though the day had been warm, the air quickly began to cool with the approaching dusk. Electra curled around his mate and their kits, trying to keep the little ones between their two bodies as he pulled the tarp up over them. Newborns couldn’t regulate their own body temperatures, needed to kept warm in the evenings to keep their oil circulating properly. Electra’s systems hummed, opening all his heat-vents to flush the waste-heat from his computer bank and warm his young. Unfortunately, his charge wouldn’t last forever and the fire had taken down the catenary to much of the railway. 

Sometime a little later, Electra was roused by the rumble of a diesel engine. He looked to his mate hopefully, but Greaseball was still out like a light. Then, there was an awkward cough.

“Uh. Your crane car asked me to come offer you a line.” Gook was standing next to Electra, a panel open in his side to reveal a port as he shuffled his wheels. “Since we can’t get no extension cords out this way.”

Electra raised his eyebrows in surprise at the offer, before shifting slightly to extend a charging cord. Gook settled cross-legged next to him, plugging the cord in before sitting back on his hands and revving his engine. 

“So, will the boss be okay?” Gook asked after a moment of silence, looking at Greaseball with a hint of worry on his face. He had never seen the older diesel look so. . . weak. 

“He will be fine.” Electra reassured, as much for himself as for the young diesel engine. “Having the kits just took a lot out of him.”

And speaking of a few certain someones. He could hear the clicking sound of waking newborn engines, who probably wanted to be fed again. Apparently, they had to be fed every couple hours, burning through the fuel in their tiny tanks incredibly fast. Electra shifted around until he could grasp the one electric babe in his arms, lifting the little one to his chest, and watched as the other three found teats on their carrier’s belly. Oh, how Electra wished Greaseball was awake to see this. 

 

It seemed it would be a while longer before the big diesel got the chance to meet his young, however. By the next morning, the trainfolk got word that they could –finally- go back to the yard. Everyone cheered, jostling around and finding spots on the rails as they shifted shape and coupled up. Electra, though, hung back. Greaseball had not awoken yet, still dead to the world. Poking and prodding him didn’t even earn a twitch, the diesel was solidly out. 

They also had to figure out how to transport the kits back to the yard. Really, the easiest thing to do would be to carry them in hand. Which meant that Electra and his components would have to skate back to the yard on their own. 

More difficult would be moving Greaseball. Over 150 tons of diesel engine couldn’t just be carried the several miles to Apollo- Victoria. They’d need-

“Heya. I heard you lot needed the services of a flatcar.” Flat Top came over to the group, Wrench at his side. The freight car had a cocky grin on his face, though it faded slightly when he got a good look at the unconscious diesel on the ground. “Hey, he gonna be alright? Greaseball don’t look too good.”

“He is fine.” Wrench insisted. Overworked, but fine. “But we need to get him back to the yard, and he’s too big to carry. Can you handle him?”

Flat Top sniffed in affront at the suggestion he wouldn’t be able to handle a load. “Course I can handle him. Just a diesel engine, right? No big.” The freight car moved over to the rail line and stretched before shifting his shape. Becoming a long, somewhat shabby if sturdy looking, flatcar. 

Wrench looked him over with a critical eye, before nodding. Greaseball was probably over Flat Top’s weight specs, but they didn’t have too far to go. Krupp got a secure hold of the diesel around his chest, supporting his upper body, while Wrench firmly gripped Greaseball’s legs. The kits were placed safely in the arms of Purse, Electra, and Volta (and Joule, who promised to be extra careful) for safe keeping as their carrier was moved. 

On the count of three, Wrench and Krupp both lifted with all their strength and managed to get Greaseball onto Flat Top’s bed. The flatcar groaned with the strain, but his steel frame held. Wrench threw the tarp they had been using over Greaseball, tucking it in around the sides, before adding a few sturdy tie-down straps to make absolutely certain he didn’t fall. Then Wrench transformed as well, coupling up behind Flat Top, and gave her horn a honk. Time to move out. 

Though Wrench had an engine, and was capable of pulling other rolling stock, this load was far too heavy for her. So, they called over Gear to lead the odd train back to the yard. On the adjoining track, Electra and his other components followed alongside. Krupp took point, prepared to threaten anyone who approached them or tried to block their way, with the others behind. It was a little precarious, the kits were too young to even cling properly with their magnets, so they had to be held. Which meant that Volta, Purse, and Joule only had one hand to grip couplers with. 

As slow as they were moving, it took over an hour to reach the AV trainyard. Gear slowed to a halt in front of the diesel roundhouse, and all were relieved it was still standing. Looking relatively undamaged, aside from being sooty from all the ash blown north from the fire. Krupp did a quick sweep of the interior, making sure no danger was lurking, before indicating that the coast was clear. Even the nest was still there, though it would probably take ages to get the smell of smoke out. 

Greaseball was carefully carried inside with the assistance of Gear, settled gently into the nest he had spent so long building. Then the kits, who were getting progressively more stressed by being so distanced from their carrier, were settled in alongside him. They immediately quieted down, nuzzling into the diesel’s side with little chirps and clicks, then Electra removed his chestbox and curled up alongside them. No doubt the kits would be hungry again. 

With three little ones feeding from Greaseball, and one from Electra, the electric engine finally felt a sense of true peace. Everyone was okay. Nothing had gone as planned, the expected quiet, private delivery turned into a public spectacle, but now everyone was back home. The components settled around the stall, a respectful distance from their master but a solid presence none the less. Electra sighed, giving his still-unconscious mate a kiss on the cheek, and hoped he would awaken soon. Then, this truly would be perfect.


	4. Caboose Cookery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CB and Dinah return to the yards after the fire, only to find that their shed and all it's contents were lost. They have a temporary place to spend the night, and find comfort in each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/Pairings: CB/ Dinah  
> Rating: Explicit  
> Warnings: Mpreg

Not everyone had a wonderful return to the trainyard after the fires were out. CB was too pregnant to change shape any longer, so he and Dinah had to wait until someone could pull them back in mech form. And when they finally got back to Apollo-Victoria, it was to discover that their shed had not survived the fire. 

It took every ounce of willpower that CB had developed over his many years to not just sit down and cry. His nest had been in there. So much work to carve out a space for himself and his mate and their future little ones and it was gone. Just like that. 

Dinah hugged him tight and sat him down on a sooty wall while she skated off to find Control or another human that could direct them to a place to stay the night. She was not about to allow her pregnant mate to sleep outside, and only considered retreating to the coach shed a last resort. 

Fortunately for them both, there was another place for them to go while the yard was being rebuilt. The extension to the diesel shed was almost complete, and was certainly done enough to provide shelter to a pair of cars who needed a place to sleep. It was, at least, a dim and warm place with wooden walls and a tin steel roof above. CB settled in the corner, back against the wall so that no one could sneak up behind him, and sighed. He was supposed to be bettering himself, becoming a caboose that his girlfriend could be proud of, that could care for their twins when they were born, and here they were sitting in an empty shed. 

“Oh, now don’t do that.” Dinah knelt down beside her boyfriend and wrapped her arms around him. She let both hands drift down to caress the curve of his belly, glad to feel that at least the twins had settled down. “I know this isn’t what we planned, but at least we’re all okay. You’re okay, and so are the twins. And so is Greaseball and his kits, even after that scare.”

CB wouldn’t admit it, but he actually had gotten worried for the big diesel when he saw the amniotic fluid running down his legs and realized Greaseball was in labor. Maybe because he knew he’d be in the same situation himself soon enough. 

Speaking of. CB pushed himself up from the ground with a grunt, rolling over to a nearby berth to flop down on his back with his legs dangling over the edge. It probably wasn’t good for him to snooze on the ground, though he’d certainly slept in more uncomfortable places than that over the years. The twins though. They deserved the world, even if what he could give them was meager at best. 

His hands drifted down to his bulging middle, feeling the weight of the twins inside him. Resting so heavily over the rest of his internals, gestation chamber firm and full with the bulk of the babies and all the accumulated fluid. They had been kicking up a storm in there the entire time they’d been away from the yard, but had calmed down on the ride back. Thank Starlight. Now they occasionally turned gently in their sleep, but were otherwise still. 

“They seem to have calmed down at least.” Dinah sat down next to her boyfriend and let one of her hands join his on his middle. As much as she loved feeling their little ones move, she knew it wasn’t at all comfortable for CB. “Oh, I bet you’re hungry.”

Now that was music to CB’s audials. He grinned and turned his head, opening his mouth obediently. The caboose had never really been one for snacks or treats, freight trains didn’t get such luxuries and really his wood-on-steel frame only needed some lubricating oil and a few crackers here and there to keep going. Since becoming pregnant, though, he was suddenly a bottomless pit craving any of the incredible treats his girlfriend liked to create. 

Dinah drew out a pile of treats from her storage, and CB’s eyes went wide. Clearly, while he’d been catching a little sleep on the trackside the previous night, the dining car had been busy. Because, even with two growing kits to feed, CB didn’t think he could down that much in a single go. 

“Buffy gave me some supplies while we were stuck out there.” Dinah explained with a little shrug. “They’ll keep for another day, don’t worry.”

CB could see the way she bit her lip, though, and the way her eyes glanced at the treats, at him, and back. Idly, the caboose wondered if his girlfriend knew she had a fetish for feeding him and just didn’t know, or if she knew and was just trying to hide it. Either way, it was adorable. And now, he was just going to have to challenge himself to finish them all, wasn’t he?

Dinah gently pressed the first treat to his mouth, and CB was quick to swallow it down with a pleased moan. That scratched an itch he didn’t even know he had. Dinah’s cheeks turned pink as she fed him another, and another. 

As CB parted his lips to accept a sweet, he sucked on Dinah’s fingers just to watch her blush harder. One free hand stroked the curve of his belly, from top to bottom and back again, and he could see the way her eyes tracked the movement. There were many ups and downs to being pregnant, but this CB would never tire of. How he could turn on his girlfriend with just a touch to his belly. Which made the bulge, so awkward and unwieldy on his skinny frame, completely worth it. 

Lying on his back wasn’t perhaps the best position, the weight of the twins had settled heavily over his tanks this way, but CB couldn’t be bothered to move. The pressure was actually kind of nice, though it was getting more uncomfortable as his tanks filled. Still, the caboose persevered. He opened his mouth for the next treat, making a delighted little noise when he bit in and discovered sweet oil at the center. 

“I managed to get some journal oil,” Dinah explained. She was used to making candies for diesel engines, and was enjoying trying out some new things. “I know the extra weight must be hard on your bearings.”

“It’s not so bad when I have a beautiful girlfriend to tend to me.” CB complimented. He pushed himself up to meet Dinah’s hand for another treat, having to put out a little more effort than he was used to just to sit up. He was far too full, between the treats and the twins, and moving was difficult. But Dinah had been so good to him, and he needed to return the favor. 

Dinah allowed herself to be tugged down on the berth, flushed but a little confused when CB found his knees and shifted to kneel over her. 

“You’ve been so sweet to me.” CB reached around his girlfriend, finding the ties of her skirt and gently removing the fabric to set it safely aside. Dinah was already so aroused that just a touch to the heated metal between her legs made her spike extend. “There we go. You need to get a little sweet help as well.”

“CB, you don’t need to-“ Dinah couldn’t finish her thought, not when CB leaned over, picked up a treat off the berth in his teeth, and pressed it to her mouth in a kiss. There was the tang of the metal shavings, and the sweet note of the oil, and then her boyfriend’s tongue in her mouth playing with hers. 

“I want to.” CB murmured as he pulled back. He needed to make sure that Dinah was feeling just as good as he was. Better. Because she was his queen. He let his crotch rub against her spike, grinning to feel Dinah shudder underneath him, One of Dinah’s hands found his ass, the other drifted up to rub against the bulge of his belly. Both curves were firm and oh so round, a constant temptation. Refraining from groping her boyfriend in the middle of the yard was very difficult, though Dinah knew CB would probably enjoy a little exhibitionism. 

It felt like CB always took control in the berth, making sure that his partner felt amazing. As much as it was enjoyable, because the caboose never left his dining car unsatisfied, Dinah didn’t like to think that maybe he was putting his own pleasure aside. He was pregnant after all, carrying their twins. And though CB tried his hardest to play it off and act like nothing was different, Dinah knew it was hard on him. He deserved to be pampered. 

Apparently, tonight wasn’t going to be that night. CB had slid aside his valve cover and wiggled his hips to tease Dinah’s spike, making it difficult for the dining car to concentrate. Then, CB broke open one of the remaining treats over her chest and set about slowly licking up the mess he had just made. 

“Oooh, CB.” Dinah moaned, tossing her head back as he sucked at her throat. Still, she was very aware of how the softness of his tummy was resting against her own. Normally, when they had sex, CB used his light weight and flexibility to his advantage. He had to be more grounded now, but seemed to be making it work anyway. 

As CB bent down to take another treat from the pile, he couldn’t help but groan as he felt the twins shift against his heavy and full tanks. But there were still sweets left to eat and he was determined to not leave leftovers. He tugged aside the little bits of fabric over Dinah’s breasts to reveal her nipples, which hardened at his touch. A sweet was set on each, just so that CB could very slowly nibble them off. And it had to be slow, because he was forcing each little bite into a tank had no more room. 

“Ah, CB.” Dinah laughed as he licked at her chest, getting oil everywhere (but still careful not to stain her fabric, she noticed). She wasn’t about to just lie back and take this, however, no matter how good it felt. Because she knew full well her nipples weren’t the only sensitive ones here. Normally, as a freight car, CB’s chest was flat and featureless under his chestbox but now pregnancy was changing all that. It was very exciting. Dinah wanted to. . . explore a little. CB almost never took off his outer armor, even in the berth.

The dining car let her hands roam from his belly up to his chest, greatly enjoying the hiss she got in response as her fingers made their way up and under the heavy wood of his chestbox. Underneath, she was delighted to feel swollen nipples atop breasts heavy with oil. She was pretty sure CB’s boobs were even bigger than hers were, and she had been built to be voluptuous. Impressive. 

“Aahhh. Dinah, darling. Oo, those are very sensitive.” CB was suddenly very distracted by the delicate fingers circling his nipples, unable to remember just what he had been doing seconds before. Every touch was like a shock to his core, Dinah’s hands finding parts of him that were usually hidden very deep. Dinah slowly unlatched his chestbox, and CB nearly sobbed when the pressure was taken off his chest. He hadn’t realized just how constrictive his outer armor had gotten until it was loosened. It wasn’t just his middle that was growing, he was getting rounder everywhere. 

Now this, this is what Dinah wanted to see. CB was always so in control of himself, only ever showing exactly what he wanted others to observe. Dinah wanted to see her boyfriend –undone.- And apparently, all it took was getting him pregnant. 

CB was trying so hard to take back control, but he just couldn’t. Suddenly, Dinah’s hands and mouth were everywhere. He couldn’t help but let out a high pitched whine when her beautiful lips sucked on one of his nipples, teasing the swollen nub until a little oil leaked out. Her hands returned to his belly, making him groan at the pressure on his full tank. The caboose shifted back a little on his knees, feeling his girlfriend’s spike hard and hot against his ass. She wiggled her hips teasingly, spike nudging at the rim of his open and dripping valve, and sat up to follow her boyfriend as he tried to retreat. 

Grabbing CB’s coupler belt firmly, Dinah suddenly shifted to put her back against the wall and tugged her caboose along to sit in her lap. CB gave a little yelp of surprise when he was sat down onto her spike, abruptly filled by warm, wonderful pressure in his valve. 

“There we go.” Dinah said with a breathy grin, happy to find her boyfriend close enough to kiss again. CB’s signal lamps were glowing brightly, bathing the room in red light as he panted and tried to adjust. He rocked his hips, attempting to get more comfortable and making both cars gasp. Dinah toyed with the catches of his shoulderboxes, peeling off the heavy outer armor pieces and pushing them aside. His chestbox was next, joining her skirt on the other end of the berth, and then Dinah was able to admire the more organic shapes underneath his bulky armor. 

It was so strange for CB to suddenly be freed from his outer armor. He wore so much weight up top, on his chest and shoulders, losing that somehow only managed to make him more aware of the weight he was gaining around the middle. The rounding out of his belly was complimented by thickened hips and a wide ass now no longer dominated by broad shoulderboxes. Dinah dug her fingers in, pulling CB more firmly down onto her spike and enjoyed the groan that resulted. Their bodies fit so well, Dinah’s stubby, wide spike perfect for her boyfriend’s valve, and she could pull him flush against her even with the bulk of the twins between them. 

“Now then, can you dance for me?” Dinah whispered. 

“Anything for you,” CB responded sincerely, beginning to move and finding a good rhythm for them both. Slow and steady, finding that spot deep in his valve that felt like it was connected directly to his soul. When the two got going like this, things could last for hours. It was nothing like the hard and fast sessions Dinah had always had with Greaseball, passionate, fierce, and harsh. This was just as passionate, but in a completely different way. 

Time lost meaning as the two clung to eachother in the dark, half completed shed. They forgot about the fire, about the loss of their shed, about the stress of having two little ones on the way with no place to raise them. When the pair overloaded, there was still no reason to separate. Outer coverings were swept to the floor, Dinah curling protectively around her boyfriend as she felt him shiver a little. Not due to cold, but simply because there was not even a blanket to give him the comfort of a nest. Nothing but her own body to try and make him feel safe. 

“We’ll find you stuff for a new nest in the morning.” Dinah murmured, carefully plucking CB’s hat off so she could stroke his hair. Her other hand rubbed small circles on his lower back, their growing twins curled up warm and safe between their bodies. “I love you.”

CB hummed in response, another shiver running up through his body as he tried to curl further into his girlfriend’s embrace. He loved her too, so much. She was so good to him.


	5. Bath Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirty kits need a bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Electra, Components, unconscious!Greaseball, the kits  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: adorable newborns? Also, pronouns for Electra in this chapter are "They/Them" which I hope isn't confusing for anyone.

Every morning, when they woke up, Electra hoped to see their mate awake and aware. Unfortunately, three days after coming back to the shed and Greaseball was still solidly asleep. Now, at least, it wasn’t like some kind of coma. It was perhaps the first time Electra had ever found the big diesel’s snoring comforting, but it was a sign that he was recovering. 

Of course, sleeping schedules didn’t have much meaning anymore when sharing a nest with four newborns. They had to feed every couple hours, day and night, and Electra always had to keep watch to pluck the electric kit (whom Electra had taken to calling Sparkplug, having given in to the urge to name at least one of their children) away from his brothers. The little electric wasn’t happy about not being allowed to feed alongside the others, but was quickly learning that he had to come to his other parent for his meals. 

Since Electra was mostly stuck in the nest, except for brief forays outside the shed, the components had taken over the otherwise-unused berth. It let them be near their master, should they be needed, and also allowed them to coo over the newborn engines all they wanted. Even Krupp, who put on the most stoic public face, was enamored with the tiny infants. The components often fought over who got to hold them, though Electra always made them take such arguments outside to avoid disturbing the kits. 

Wrench, as their official repair technician, was the only one allowed unfettered access to the nest. The crane car checked on them every day, holding up each kit in turn and making sure they were feeding and growing properly. Greaseball got a check over as well, to make sure he was healing okay after all the stress of labor and birth. 

“How is he?” Electra hovered anxiously, Sparkplug clasped to their chest so the little one could nurse. 

“Getting better.” Wrench shifted one of Greaseball’s arms to be more comfortable, leaning over the diesel to fluff up the blankets just a bit and make sure his head was supported. “He will wake up when he is ready.”

Electra pouted, that wasn’t the answer they had wanted. But, it was apparently the one they were going to get. The electric moved their focus down to the kit in their arms, watching with a smile as Sparkplug unlatched and gave a little chirp of pleasure. The infant yawned widely, a bit of oil and drool dribbling down his chin, and Electra mopped it up with a fond laugh. “You are a messy little engine.”

“They could all use a bath.” Wrench commented, looking to the other three kits cuddled against their carrier’s belly. “Including you, master.”

That was probably true. Electra looked down at their armor with a bit of distaste, seeing how oil and grime had begun to gather on the normally sparkling plates. A trip to the washrack was in order. Except. The kits couldn’t leave the nest. They were all too young, and hated to be further than a few feet from their carrier. Especially the diesels. Greaseball needed a bath as well, and he definitely couldn’t be carried out of the shed and all the way to the engine washrack. Therefor, it would have to come to them. 

“Purse, Krupp, find me a tray large enough to wash the kits in.” Electra commanded, rousing the two components from where they were leisurely lounging on the berth. “Get Volta and Joule, send them for towels, sponges, and rags.”

Both cars murmured a “yes, master” and bowed before skating off, Purse muttering about where the hell they’d find a tray that large. 

“I shall go find a cleaning solvent safe for their plates.” Wrench stood and left as well. The kits were so young, plating not even fully hard, that cleaners good for adult engines would be too harsh on their tiny bodies. 

Now alone with their litter and unconscious mate, Electra sank back down to sit crosslegged and picked up one of the other little ones. The electro-diesel kit (whom Electra had NOT named yet, because Greaseball deserved to have an opinion in this) wiggled and squirmed as his sire picked him up, but quickly calmed when he was deposited in a warm lap with one of his brothers. Sparkplug’s reaction to having his brother plopped down next to him was to grab the other kit’s foot and stick it in his mouth. The electro-diesel kit squeaked in indignation, but otherwise made no attempt to get his limb back. Neither of them had teeth of any kind, so the most Sparkplug could do was just gum the foot enthusiastically and get his brother damp. Good thing they were all getting baths. 

Joule and Volta were the first to return, bearing a small stack of towels, a couple rags, and a pair of sponges. Wrench was back a few minutes later, a bottle of cleaner in hand. Then, finally, Purse and Krupp came in bearing a rather sizeable corrugated steel tub with about a foot of warm water in the bottom. The two set it down on the floor next to the nest with a thump, careful not to let the water slop out. 

“Excellent,” Electra complimented. “Volta, Purse. Wash my mate. Be gentle with him, I want him shining for when he awakens.”

The two components nodded, wetting a pair of rags before carefully entering the nest to clean the sleeping form of Greaseball. Krupp and Wrench, meanwhile, knelt next to the tub and added a little cleaner to the water. Electra had to reach a little bit to get his hands on the other two kits, who both chirped in surprise when they were suddenly whisked away from their carrier’s warm side and added to their sire’s lap. 

Joule had to stifle laughter at the sight of her master with their lap full of squirming kits, who weren’t sure whether they wanted to curl up and stay put, or try to escape. Wrench was more practical, and reached across the tub to pick up one of the little diesel engines before plopping him down in the water. There was just enough in the bottom of the tub to cover the little one’s legs, but not enough to be a danger to small vents or fans. The kit squeaked when he suddenly found himself in a new place, strange liquid lapping up over his legs. 

The other three kits were quickly added, and then the splashing began. Sparkplug was very excited about this new play place, slapping his hands down on the water’s surface and squealing at the noise and splashes that resulted. His diesel brother next to him didn’t appreciate this at all, and began to cry softly. Electra was quick to reach in and try to soothe the unhappy kit, before taking one of the soft sponges and swiping it over the little one’s head. Krupp, Wrench, and Joule were quick to copy their master, each choosing an infant and a sponge. Suds quickly formed on the surface of the water, another colorful distraction for the kits. 

“How long are they gonna be this small?” Joule asked curiously, watching as the tiny diesel in her hands attempted to bite at her fingers, engine growling a cutely threatening note as the dynamite tanker tried to wash his hair. 

“Not long.” Wrench was having a little more success with the electro-diesel, who was purring happily at the sensation of the sponge running down his back. “Trainlets grow very fast. Another two months, and they’ll have doubled in size. By the time they’re weaned in six months, they’ll be standing and skating on their own.”

There was something that sounded suspiciously like a sniffle from Krupp, but the armaments car’s voice was steady as he murmured, “Then we shall have to savor this while we can.”

Once the litter was all clean, they were pulled out of the now-oily water and set onto towels to be fluffed dry. Both diesels were clearly relieved to have been removed from the water, while Sparkplug was whining softly at having been separated from his new play place. 

Behind them, Volta and Purse grunted as they attempted to roll Greaseball onto his side to access his back. He might have lost a lot of baby weight, but he was still more tons than any of the electrics. Soon, though, his plating was cleaned and shining. The diesel was still desperately in need of a full detailing and polish, but that would not be accomplished until he could leave the nest. 

The kits certainly didn’t mind that their carrier’s plating was a bit dull and scratched in places. All they cared about was that he was warm and a ready supply of oil for them. After all the excitement of their bath, all four were quick to fall asleep curled up in a cute little heap against his side. 

With a pleased sigh, Electra moved from the nest and allowed their components to refocus all their attention onto detailing their master. As much as the electric engine loved their mate and offspring, they still had to be the most stunning of the lot. 

Purse and Volta cleaned with steady, sure hands while Wrench oiled her master’s joints and bearings. Krupp got Joule to help him carry out the tub of water to dump it down the drains at the washracks, letting the others take care of Electra’s needs. 

Finally, everyone was to a level of clean suitable to Electra. The electric engine laid back down in the nest, curling into Greaseball’s warm side with the kits asleep between them. Electra shifted enough to kiss their mate on the cheek, petting his black hair gently. “You’d better wake up soon. We all need you here.”

There was a chirp of affirmation from somewhere between their two bodies, making Electra snort with amusement. At least someone agreed.


	6. Sign Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the kits has a problem, and CB is needed for advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Greaseball/Electra, CB, Wrench, the kits.  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: mpreg, discussion of losing one of the kits

Greaseball, for a time, had worried that he would be unfathomably bored being stuck in his nest for weeks. Even after the kits were born, they needed constant attention. The little ones had to be fed at least every two hours, all day long. When he was actually there, though, in his nest with his four infants, there was no place he’d rather be. 

When the little ones were at his teats, his entire body was so blissed out and relaxed. And then he got to just, watch them. Only two weeks old, and already he was starting to see their individual personalities. Sparkplug was an outgoing little flame, which was good because the tiny electric engine had to spend much of his time with Electra. Fortunately, Electra had gotten Control to give them time off so they could spend all their time with their mate and little ones, because Sparkplug couldn’t be fed by Greaseball. He loved to be held by anyone willing to do it, any warm body would do, though too much time in hands and he was squeaking to be put down. 

Tracer had formed an attachment to Krupp, of all components. The electro-diesel kit was very quiet, but any time Krupp came into the shed he started squeaking to be picked up. The armaments car couldn’t keep a straight face, always breaking into an awkward smile and bending down to join the kits in the nest. (He had quickly been informed, by an angry diesel engine, that the kits were –not- allowed to be removed from the nest.)

Torque was surprisingly shy, preferring to stay close to his carrier and could not be separated from Greaseball for even a second without complaining. Camshaft was very attached to his brother, the two were often holding each other’s tiny hands or even laying on top of each other. 

Wrench, who had apparently shifted gender along with his master, was very attentive to the newborns and their carrier. The crane car was a little more gruff when male, but no less gentle with his hands as he picked up and examined each kit in turn. (right in front of the eagle eye of their carrier, of course.) It was very difficult for Greaseball to not just lunge forward and take back his kits when they cried in Wrench’s hands, but he managed to resist by reminding himself that it needed to be done. He needed to know his babies were okay, even after their abrupt arrival into the world. 

The kits, it turned out, were fine. Greaseball himself was less well. Two weeks since giving birth and everything still hurt. He couldn’t get up at all, even if the kits would let him. The big diesel had managed to get as far as his knees before a sharp pang hit his lower abdomen and forced him back down. Everything below his chest ached fiercely with even the smallest movement. Fortunately, the components were more than willing to wait on him hand and wheel, along with their master. Electra was perfectly capable of leaving the nest, but just didn’t want to. After all, someone had to feed little Sparkplug, and it meant that the electric engine didn’t have to leave their mate and their newborns. 

“Should everything still be this sore?” Greaseball groaned one afternoon, shifting his legs and wincing at the throb that resulted in his pelvis. He was reclined comfortably in his nest, cushioned by the piles of fabric so that every part of him was supported. Tracer and Camshaft were sprawled on his belly, each having claimed a teat for their afternoon meal, while Sparkplug was curled up on his chest asleep and Torque was being examined by Wrench. “I didn’t hurt so bad this long last time I crashed, why now?”

“Because the last time you crashed, it was just your exterior plating that was affected.” Wrench commented, not taking his eyes off of Torque. The diesel kit began to whine, stressed from being separated from his carrier for so long. Deeming the little one healthy, Wrench set him back down gently on Greaseball’s belly. Torque immediately latched on to a teat, whining slightly as his tiny hands kneaded the soft surface of his carrier’s abdomen. Greaseball let out a deep rumble in response, which changed into a growl when Camshaft was plucked from his belly instead. “Oh hush you. The reason you hurt so bad is because your internals are still re-setting themselves. And will continue to do so for the next several months.”

“Months?” Greaseball groaned and let his head fall back into the cushions. 

“Maybe if you hadn’t skated a marathon while in labor, it wouldn’t hurt so bad.” Wrench commented, holding Camshaft up to examine the little diesel’s head and ears. The kit let out an unhappy cry at being so rudely removed from his meal, making Greaseball snarl in response. 

“What are you doing to him?” Greaseball couldn’t keep the demand out of his voice. Any sound of distress from his kits caused a very visceral response, making him want to protect and guard them from any outside threat. The fact that Wrench was one of his mate’s components was the only thing keeping the diesel from biting or otherwise attacking the crane car. Still, he bared his teeth and reached out for his infant. 

“His audials were damaged when he was born.” Wrench explained, shifting closer so that Greaseball could at least touch his kit. “I am concerned.” The crane car held his hand away, behind Camshaft, and snapped his fingers. The kit didn’t even twitch, completely ignoring the sudden noise. “I think Camshaft might be deaf.”

“What?” Greaseball watched as Camshaft mouthed at his fingers, chewing on the digits happily and showing absolutely no reaction when Wrench snapped again. Deaf, his kit was deaf. What if they chose to cull Camshaft? Engines the humans saw as imperfect usually did not make it to their adult upgrades. “Can you. . . do anything about it?”

“Hmm. Maybe.” Wrench said slowly, handing Camshaft back and watching with a bit of sadness as the kit was immediately tucked deep away into Greaseball’s arms. The diesel’s engine was rumbling protectively as he shifted slightly to better shield his four young, aching body be damned. “Once he reaches his adult frame, we might be able to upgrade him with audio boosters. The way that caboose has.”

Greaseball nodded, looking back down at Camshaft with concern. The kit was oblivious to all this, squeaking softly as he crawled over to Torque and collapsed on top of his brother. Adult frames for the litter were over a year away, what would he do until then? Would Control even want to wait that long, to see if upgrades were possible? 

“I will speak with Control.” Wrench promised. The railway owner was fairly amiable to him, given that Wrench was the only wrecking crane in the yard and therefor was invaluable to the rail line. Hopefully, the crane car could use that leverage to convince Control to keep Camshaft around, along with the fact that Greaseball would be distraught to lose one of his young. 

There was also someone else Wrench wanted to speak with. Leaving Greaseball, the crane car ventured next door to the half-completed shed extension that had been lent to Dinah and CB. The dining car wouldn’t be home, it was a work day for the passenger coaches, but the other occupant of the shed was almost certain to be in. 

In the two weeks since their return, it was clear that CB had been hard at work creating a new nest for himself. The far corner of the shed had been turned into a messy tangle of blankets and cushions, a flash of red plating just visible nestled deep inside. 

Wrench gave a courtesy knock on the door frame, which still lacked a door (apparently, temporary doors would be going in sometime in the next few days) before skating inside. The crane car was unsurprised to hear a growl from the nest in response, and though it lacked the underlying bass rumble that Greaseball had the idea was the same. Nesting rolling stock hated intrusions. 

“It’s just me.” Wrench rolled his eyes and ignored the warning, approaching the nest and kneeling down to appear less threatening. “I want to see how you’re doing.”

“What?” Came CB’s voice from inside the nest. Blankets shifted, and finally the caboose emerged. His hat was missing, revealing sleep-mussed brown hair, and his chestbox was unlatched and hanging loosely. Digging around in the cushions for a moment, CB found his hat and plopped it on his head. Fumbling with the strap under his chin, the caboose settled his audio boosters more securely over his ears and turned them up. “What do you want?”

“I said I’m here to see how you’re doing.” Wrench repeated. “Any aches or pains?”

“No more than unusual.” The caboose quipped, squinting at the crane car. “Weren’t you a girl?”

“Sometimes. Today I happen to be a boy.” Wrench responded idly, reaching out with one hand. “May I scan you?”

CB still seemed a bit confused by that, but decided not to argue. He was too tired for this. Instead, he just nodded and tried not to flinch as Wrench laid a hand against his belly. One of the twins pushed back, making the caboose wince at the feeling. “I haven’t slept in days. They don’t ever seem to stop, even at night.”

“You don’t want to hear this, but that’s a good thing.” Wrench ran a quick scan, and pulled back when he was satisfied the caboose and his two passengers were just fine. “They should be more active as they grow. Freight cars have a hard time with two; you especially don’t have a lot of room in there. It won’t be comfortable. But the twins are doing very well.”

CB sighed heavily and shifted down onto his side; too tired to even manage a smile. “Wonderful. How many more months of this?”

“You have about 15 weeks left, give or take.” Wrench couldn’t help but feel a little bad for CB. The components weren’t fond of the caboose, they all knew what he had done in his past, and still held a bit of resentment for what he had done to their master during the final race (and were irked at their master for choosing to race with the traitorous caboose in the first place, not that Electra was known for brilliant decision making). But now, he was of absolutely no threat. And clearly cared about the two lives he carried. “Getting out and moving could help calm them down. If you need an engine, you know my frequency. I am just next door.”

“I-“ CB stared for a moment, surprised at the offer, before recovering. “I mean. If there’s no one else available. You’re not exactly an engine.”  
.  
They both knew that there wasn’t anyone else. No engine in the yard would trust CB behind them for a while yet, even in his current state. Maybe not ever. 

“Well, I do have a request to make of you.” Wrench hadn’t just come in to make sure the caboose was okay, after all. 

“A request?” That made CB sit up and take notice. People didn’t just ask him for things, especially not now. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What is it?”

“One of the kits is deaf.” Wrench said bluntly. “I would appreciate if you went over to talk to Greaseball about it. He is worried that Camshaft won’t be able to work and will be culled.”

It wasn’t often that CB was caught speechless, but he couldn’t come up with anything to say. When he was younger, being deaf was all he had known. He had been isolated and ignored because he couldn’t hear and talked funny. And as he’d gotten older, he’d taken advantage of that. Faded into the background on purpose, nothing but a plain old caboose. Identical to every other little red caboose in the country. No one remembered him after he split town, only remembered the wrecks he’d left behind. 

“You want me to- what? Tell him it’ll be okay?” CB got to his knees, struggling to escape the tangle of blankets he’d made. 

“Just speak to him.” Wrench didn’t know how to further reassure Greaseball, and wasn’t sure if CB would do any better but at least the caboose could understand. Wrench got to his wheels and pulled up CB with him, steadying the other car as CB tried to find his balance. 

Fortunately, Electra had not yet returned to the shed. The electric engine liked to take at least a short amount of time to go around the yard now that Greaseball was awake, mostly to brag about how amazing his babies were and how great they were doing. 

Wrench let them into the shed, sending a silent message to the other components to shoo for a little bit. Greaseball stirred curiously when Wrench entered, though his face fell into a frown when he saw just who was behind the crane car. 

“CB.” Greaseball greeted, curling slightly more around his litter of sleeping kits. His engine rumbled unhappily, though the diesel managed not to bare his teeth in threat. “You look. .. good.”

The caboose snorted, though the amused sound turned into a huff of discomfort as he pressed a hand to his side. “Was that a fat joke?”

“Maybe.” Greaseball smirked, and the tension in the room eased. “Why are you in here? You look like you can barely stand.”

“Your crane car invited me.” CB nodded towards Wrench, who moved closer to help the caboose sit down on the floor next to the nest. Putting him on the same level as Greaseball would help ease the diesel’s protective instincts, though CB knew better than to try and touch any of the blankets of the nest. “Wanted me to talk to you. About, you know.” He gestured at his ears. 

“About Camshaft.” Greaseball sighed and looked down at the pile of kits curled up on his belly, bringing up one hand to stroke the youngest diesel. Camshaft squeaked in response, yawned and snuggling closer into his brothers. “Wrench says he can’t hear. Might be able to get audio boosters, might not. Either way, those have to wait until adult frame.”

“Control is too much of a bleeding heart to have one of ‘em culled.” CB commented, unable to help a smile at the sight of the four infants. This was the first time he’d actually seen them in person, close up, and maybe it was just because he was pregnant himself but he just wanted to cuddle all of them. “At worst, he’ll be a yard goat or something. I worked for fifty years unable to hear shit before I got my boosters.”

Greaseball stared, trying to figure out if the caboose was exaggerating or if he was really –that- old, before deciding it didn’t matter. “I want you ta teach me that thing you do. Talking with your hands.”

“You want to learn sign language?” CB was surprised. The diesel had never shown anything but impatience with the communication method before. 

“Got at least a year and a half before Camshaft is even in adult frame. Gotta be able to talk to my kit somehow.” Greaseball said gruffly. “You up for it, or do I gotta ask Dinah?”

“I might be a tad rusty, but I think I can handle it. Give me something to do during the day anyway.” CB patted the heavy curve of the twins. “Can’t exactly get too far with these two hanging about. When do you want to start?”

“I don’t have any plans the rest of the day.” Greaseball shrugged. “Why not right now?”

 

And so the lessons started. It was a little difficult, Greaseball couldn’t sit up and that made it hard to do some of the signs, the diesel also wasn’t a particularly quick study and was slow to memorize. By the time Electra returned, he had at least gotten the first half of the alphabet down. The electric engine was surprised to see their visitor, but was quick to join in. Their computer-brain made it easy to pick up the signs, which was just the competition needed to spur Greaseball on when he got frustrated. CB smirked in amusement as the two attempted to argue in sign with their extremely limited vocabulary. Watching the pair never got old.


	7. Dinah's Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinah finds out about her boyfriend's past, and it isn't pretty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Greaseball/Electra, Dinah/CB, Wrench, Joule, the kits  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: Angst. Mpreg.

Dinah was quite surprised to find her boyfriend outside his nest when she came home from her train, but she wasn’t complaining. After all, it gave her an excuse to come in and visit Greaseball and his new litter. 

While most visitors to the shed got a warning growl, Greaseball let out a surprised chirp of his engine instead when he saw Dinah enter. Electra and CB both turned at the sound, the caboose smiling at the sight of his girlfriend while Electra just looked at her suspiciously. 

“Hi CB,” Dinah said brightly, dropping to her kneepads next to her boyfriend and giving him a quick hug. “Have you been hanging out with Greaseball and Electra?” The dining car was very aware that most of the yard did not trust her boyfriend after what happened at the races, and was proud of him making friends. 

“We’ve been working on their sign language.” CB explained, giving a pleased hum as his belly was rubbed. He’d been sitting there for so long the twins had started to act up, though it was unlikely he’d be moving without assistance. “It’s. Well, it’s been going.”

“Hey, this shit is hard.” Greaseball concentrated and managed to sign ‘Hello, Dinah.’ To the dining car, spelling out her name letter by letter.

Dinah clapped politely at his effort, signing ‘Good Job’ back. She never thought she’d see the day Greaseball tried to learn sign, he’d never been anything but dismissive of it before. “Why the sudden interest?”

“One of our little ones is deaf.” Electra reached down and gently plucked up Camshaft, cradling the tiny diesel to their chest. Camshaft squeaked and latched onto his sire’s chestplates, nuzzling under Electra’s scrollbox with a chirr. “Camshaft has damaged audials.”

“Oh noo.” Dinah gasped and put a hand over her mouth, looking at the carefree infant. She edged closer and reached cautiously towards Electra. She desperately wanted to hold one of them, they were incredibly adorable, but she was aware that both parents were very protective. “May I-?”

Electra exchanged glances with their mate, watching as Greaseball had a brief internal struggle over whether to let his good friend hold one of his babies. Finally, he came to a decision. “Camshaft isn’t very social. But here, you can hold Sparkplug.” 

With careful hands, Dinah reached forward and picked up the tiny electric engine. Sparkplug laughed as he was hoisted in the air, before curiously looking over the new person holding him with big, glowing blue eyes. 

“Awww, who looks just like their daddy?” The resemblance between Sparkplug and Electra was unmistakable. Dinah smiled as the kit grabbed onto her finger with deceptively strong little hands. “CB, look. Isn’t he just the sweetest?”

The caboose looked over his girlfriend’s shoulder, feeling his heart melt at the sight of the infant cradled in her arms. Sparkplug had pulled her finger into his mouth and was now sucking on it contentedly. CB pressed one hand to his belly, feeling his own trainlets shifting inside of him. Not too much longer and they’d be here. 

“Ours will be even cuter.” CB murmured, resting his chin on his girlfriend’s shoulder. He raised his eyes from Sparkplug to meet the gaze of the infant’s carrier, who was staring straight at them. It was the most focused he’d ever seen Greaseball outside of a race. 

As CB reached down to stroke Sparkplug’s hair, he saw Greaseball’s lip curl to show a bit of teeth. The diesel allowed him into the shed, but clearly didn’t trust him around his kits. CB couldn’t blame him; he wouldn’t trust himself either to be honest. Not after everything he’d done. 

 

Dinah continued to coo over the little electric engine in her arms until Sparkplug eventually got hungry and had to be handed back. Electra tenderly unlatched their chestbox and settled Sparkplug in to nurse, the kit kneading at his sire’s breast eagerly as he suckled. Greaseball gathered the other three against him to feed as well, engine purring the most pleased note that Dinah had ever heard from the diesel. 

Deciding to leave the happy family to their intimate moment, Dinah tugged her boyfriend to his wheels and led him out of the shed. CB bounced a bit on his wheels, rubbing where the twins were kicking and hoping maybe they’d calm down so he could get some sleep later. 

As they pushed open the door to Greaseball’s stall and rolled out, though, the two cars suddenly encountered all of Electra’s components milling about outside. Clearly, they were waiting for their master to give word that they were allowed in. 

The group split apart to allow Dinah and CB passage, Joule letting out a whistle as she looked the caboose up and down. She couldn’t get over how funny CB looked, with his round belly and chest box hanging loosely because he couldn’t latch it anymore over his breasts. “Well, well, look at you. From serial train wrecker to proud daddy, quite the change.”

CB looked sharply at Joule, face going a bit pale even as his signal lamps glowed in warning. Dinah glanced between the dynamite tanker and her boyfriend with confusion, “What do you mean by that?”

Joule was oblivious to the death glare she was getting from CB, either that or she just didn’t care. The component smirked at Dinah, “What, he didn’t tell you? Your caboose has been wrecking trains for years, even took credit for the Ol’ 97- mmmppph!” 

“And that’s enough out of you.” Wrench placed a firm hand over Joule’s mouth, picked her up, and marched her into the shed. The rest of the components trailed behind, and soon CB and Dinah were left alone. 

“CB? What was she talking about?” Dinah turned back only to see CB already making for their shed. “CB!”

Following behind her boyfriend, Dinah saw him disappear into his nest. He wasn’t going to get away that easily, though. The dining car had initially been hesitant about starting to date CB, conflicted due to the knowledge that he had intentionally wrecked Rusty and been Greaseball’s partner in cheating for several years. The sincerity he had shown to her after she had been dumped though. . . that’s what Dinah thought the real CB was. Apparently, though, she still didn’t know everything. 

“CB, talk to me.” Dinah fell to her knees and poked her head into the nest. “What happened back there? What about the Old 97, and wrecking trains? Was she talking about the races?”

“You know me.” CB attempted to smile, though it came out as more of a grimace. This was not how he wanted this to happen. Hell, if he’d had his way, Dinah would have never found out about his past. Mentally, he made a note to figure out how to sabotage Joule without Electra killing him for it. First, to get out of this. “I’ve done a few things I’m not proud of. Crashed some engines here and there.”

“During the races?” Dinah could tell something wasn’t right. She didn’t like being lied to. 

“And maybe a few times before that.” CB admitted. If he was honest, Dinah was scary when she was mad, and he couldn’t find it in him to lie. “Back in 1903, the mail train, number ’97, came into the yard making all kinds of fuss over being late. While they changed the crew, he bitched and bitched about it. I figured I’d help him along, put a little hole in the brakeline of his baggage coach.”

Dinah’s eyes widened as a manic grin crept over her boyfriend’s face, and the laugh he gave was frankly uncomfortable to hear. 

“You could say that trains that take me just can’t find their brakes.” CB chuckled, “I’ve taken down more than one arrogant engine in my time. It’s what they get for treating the freight like shit.”

“You- you’ve been wrecking trains? Not while racing, but regular trains?” Dinah just. Couldn’t fathom working on her usual train and deliberately derailing not just her engine but everyone else in the train. “S-since 1903? How old are you?”

“Oh, since long before that. I was built in 1860. They turned me into a caboose in 1875.” CB was aware that he was perhaps oversharing, but he was on such a roll now that he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “The 97, Casey Jones, the number 9.If the humans wrote a song about it, I was there. The red caboose, at the back. Taking the slack and paying it back.”

Dinah shook her head in disbelief, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She wished this was all just a big joke, but CB had a crazed gleam to his eyes that told her it was all too real. “Why?”

“Why? Because I can!” CB laughed. “Because the engines never gave two shits about me, why should I care about them?”

“But the other cars. The humans!” Dinah grabbed her boyfriend by the cheeks, forcing him to look at her. CB’s pale blue eyes shook a bit as he struggled to focus. “CB. Why?”

“Because- because.” The caboose shut his eyes tightly, fighting against memories that should have stayed buried. “Because they always hated me! All of them. The engines, the other cars, the people. They thought I was just some stupid, useless crummy that talked funny and couldn’t hear anything. Liked to jerk me about, run out the slack, shove me around, knock me down. Well I showed them! I showed them all!”

When CB opened his eyes, he was staring right into Dinah’s tear stained face. And slowly, it occurred to him that he might have said too much. The dining car let go of his cheeks with shaking hands, scrubbing at her eyes. CB reached out, to comfort her, to hug her, to do something, but Dinah scooted back. 

“I- I’m sorry. I have to go.” Dinah shook her head before standing and skating out of the shed. 

“Dinah, wait!” CB made to follow, but a sharp pain in his middle forced him back down. He let out a hurt cry and curled up as best as he could in his nest, suddenly reminded of the two passengers he was carrying inside him. In frustration, CB undid the chin strap of his hat and threw the thing across the shed, wrapping both arms around his belly as the kits kicked unhappily inside. A cramp suddenly tightened around his middle, making CB gasp and sob. And then, for the first time in perhaps a hundred years, CB started to cry. 

In the past, if someone found out about him, he’d just leave town to start anew on another railway. He didn’t have that option now. No railroad in the country would take in a stray caboose these days, much less a pregnant stray caboose. Plus he. He didn’t want to leave. But if Dinah didn’t come back, and he wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t, he didn’t know what he would do. 

As another cramp hit him, gestation chamber tightening painfully, CB couldn’t help but remember all the lecture he’d gotten from Wrench about stress being bad for unborn trainlets and early labor and miscarriage. It wasn’t of much comfort. 

 

Dinah skated out of the shed, tears blurring her vision, and she realized she didn’t know where to go. The other coaches wouldn’t understand, she didn’t want to burden them with what she now knew. 

Stumbling over to an old buffer, Dinah sat down heavily on it and sobbed. 

 

Meanwhile, inside Greaseball’s stall, Electra was looking between their components suspiciously. They were hiding something, and the electric engine couldn’t stand for that. “Okay, what did Joule do this time?”

“What?! Why me?” Joule crossed her arms, deeply offended. 

“She told Dinah that her boyfriend was a serial trainwrecker.” Wrench offered, giving the dynamite tanker a shove. “I assume the two are having a painful, tear-filled talk about it right now. That dining car is an emotional one.”

“What?” Greaseball, who’d only been half-listening, sat up suddenly in his nest. “What about Dinah and CB? She knows he used to help me cheat at races.”

“He’s done a lot worse than that.” Electra would always remember the caboose’s little song and dance when he’d shown his true colors during the races. “He’s been sending trains off the rail for years. Bragged about it when he talked to me between races, about all the trains he’d wrecked.”

The group went silent when they suddenly heard yelling through the wall of the shed. It was too muffled to make out words, but the voice sounded like CB. 

“I am going to check on them.” Wrench announced after a few minutes of silence from next door. The crane car had begun to think of CB as his patient, and Wrench found himself unexpectedly concerned about the caboose.

Wrench skated out of the shed, and in the quiet that followed Greaseball’s audio receptors picked up a faint sound. Of crying, from somewhere outside. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t gone well for Dinah. Last time she’d been alone, crying, Greaseball had ignored her. Not this time. 

With a groan of effort, Greaseball pushed himself to his knees. His middle ached fiercely, but for once he managed to push that pain aside. 

“Greaseball? What are you doing?” Electra watched with concern as their mate painfully got to his wheels. 

“I gotta go. Make sure Dinah is okay.” Greaseball gently scooped up the kits, who were squeaking in confusion, and set them in Electra’s lap. “Here, look after them. I’ll be right back.”

Once Greaseball managed to get standing, he swayed at the sudden headrush. It’d been two weeks since he’d been able to stand up, and everything hurt. He was determined, though. And he was a little shakey on his wheels, but that didn’t stop him from stepping out of his nest and making his way out of the shed. 

Wrench made his way into the shed next door, stepping over a hat left lying on the floor and cautiously approaching the nest. CB was curled up in his collection of blankets, wrapped around the bulge of his belly, shoulders shaking as he cried very quietly. No, this hadn’t gone well at all. 

Scanning the caboose, Wrench didn’t like what he saw. The stress was clearly giving him cramps, and the twins were kicking unhappily in reaction to his distress. Reaching into his storage, Wrench pulled out a large needle and knelt down next to the nest. Only then did CB notice his presence, looking over with red-rimmed eyes and attempting to move away to defend himself and his young. Wrench attempted to make a reassuring smile, though the syringe in his hand certainly didn’t help any. Before CB could react further, the crane car struck. Quick as lightning, Wrench shot forward and sunk the needle into the caboose’s upper arm. A full dose of sedative was administered, then the crane car pulled back to watch it take effect. 

CB tried to move away and hide deeper in his nest, but he suddenly couldn’t make his limbs do what he wanted. He stared out at Wrench, but the crane car kept blurring and going out of focus. “W-what? Did you-?”

Knowing CB wouldn’t be able to hear him, Wrench quickly referenced his master’s memory banks before signing a gentle “Sleep” to the caboose. CB shook his head, trying to clear away the fog, but the sedative was dragging him down into drug-induced slumber that could not be resisted. 

When Wrench was assured that CB was well and truly out, he moved into the nest to rearrange the caboose into a more comfortable position. A thick blanket was tucked in nicely around him, better to provide a feeling of security to a nesting caboose, then Wrench sat back to monitor his patient until the sedative wore off. 

 

Greaseball, meanwhile, was beginning to regret forcing himself upright perhaps just a little as he made his way out beyond his shed into the yard. Literally everything below his neck hurt, but that was suddenly put out of mind when he saw a heartbroken Dinah crying on an old buffer.

“Hey, Dinah.” Greaseball awkwardly sat down next to her. “This uh. Seat taken?”

“Greaseball?” Dinah looked up at him in surprise, face tear streaked and puffy from crying. “What are you doing out here?”

“We heard some of what happened through the wall.” Greaseball put a hand on her shoulderbox, unsure of how close he was allowed to get. “I couldn’t let ya out here crying alone.”

“Didn’t have a problem with it last time.” Dinah said bitterly, making Greaseball cringe guiltily. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just. Can’t believe how long he’s been lying to me. He’s older than Poppa is! And he’s killed people!”

“What would you have done if he told you when he met ya?” Greaseball had to ask. 

“I- I would’ve.” Dinah had loved her time with CB, but now she kept wondering how much of it was real. “Run. I would’ve run.”

“Is that what ya want to do now?” 

“I don’t know!” It was like she was being torn in two. “I still love him. The way I still love you sometimes.”

Greaseball stared as Dinah buried her face in her hands in embarrassment. He hadn’t known that particular bit. He was still. Well, still a bit in love with her too. It wasn’t that desperate longing he’d had once, though, when she’d first left. As much of a pain in the ass Electra sometimes was, Greaseball was honestly happy with him in a way he and Dinah never had been. 

“And then there’s the twins to think about.” Dinah shook her head, shoulders shaking. “God, what am I going to do? I don’t want to leave them without a mommy.”

“I don’ think CB would take them from you. Even if you two wasn’t together anymore.” At least, Greaseball certainly hoped the little bastard wouldn’t do something like that. He knew that Dinah was so incredibly excited to be a mom, and now that he had his own little ones to look after he certainly couldn’t blame her. “You really gonna take the kids and leave?”

“No. Because he should be there for them too.” Dinah was so terribly conflicted. “I know the pregnancy has been really hard on him. I just. I can’t believe he’s so sweet to me and has been so awful in the past.”

“That’s why he was so useful throwing races for me. Nobody ever expected it.” For a lot of years, Greaseball had been amused by the polite, friendly face the caboose put on, knowing full well it was just an act. It was less funny, though, when the darkness underneath had been turned on him instead of the competition. “But. Ever since that last race. He’s been talking about changing. I know he really cares for ya. I know he hasn’t wrecked anybody since then.” 

Which is why Dinah was in such turmoil. She sat there for a while longer, composing herself so that she at least wasn’t a sobbing mess. Finally, she slipped down off the buffer. “I. Think I should go back to the coach shed for the night. I need to think about things.” Looking back at the diesel shed, she bit her lip. Wondering how CB was doing, and the twins. She wanted, desperately, to check on them, but knew she needed time away. 

Following her gaze, Greaseball got on the radio and gave Wrench a quick call. “Wrench says he’s fine. He’s asleep now.”

“Okay.” Dinah took a deep breath, then released it slowly. “I think. I’m going to head to the coach yard now.” 

“Do you need a ride?” Greaseball attempted to push himself up off the buffer, only to grunt in pain and clutch the structure for support. 

“Starlight! Greaseball, you shouldn’t even be out here.” Dinah grabbed his arm and tried to help steady him. “You’re still hurt.”

“’M fine. Just a bit sore.” Greaseball wavered for a moment, pressing a hand to his abdomen, but managed to stand upright. It had, perhaps, been a bit stupid of him to force himself outside only two weeks after giving birth, but he wasn’t exactly known for his smart decisions. 

“Go back to your shed, and your mate, and your babies.” Dinah gave him a light shove in that direction, managing a wavering smile. She was glad Greaseball had gotten his happy ending, even if hers was turning out to be a little harder to find. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

She turned and skated off, leaving Greaseball standing there confused and somewhat saddened. He wished he could do more, but he was just a big, dumb diesel engine. Not a miracle worker. With a sigh, he gingerly made his way back to his shed. 

 

 

 

CB woke up slowly, feeling like his head was lined with cotton and limbs weighted with lead. He shifted, a thick blanket wrapped around him keeping him from stretching out. It was warm and soft, at least, his nesting instincts were very happy about that. But then, the memory of the night before came back to him and CB buried his face back into the fabric with a load groan. He didn’t get the torrent of emotions he had the previous night, just a sort of depressed resignation. The caboose couldn’t take back anything he had said, he just had to live with it. 

Freeing one hand from the blanket, CB pressed it to his middle to feel the curve of the twins. There was a gentle little movement from within, and he breathed a sigh of relief. At least they were okay. The real question was, what was he going to do with them? CB couldn’t imagine raising the two himself. And Dinah was so excited for them. Maybe it would be best if he just shut himself in until he gave birth, then left the twins with Dinah and made his way to new rails. Assuming Dinah would be willing to take in a pair of kits that had come from him. No, Dinah would probably love them no matter what. The twins would hopefully come out perfect and innocent of everything their daddy had done. He wouldn't be a blight on their lives. 

That would just be what he had to do. A little later, he’d go to the fuel depot and hoard up enough oil and crackers to make it through the rest of the pregnancy, then plan to skip town as soon as the twins were born. No sense hanging around any longer than that, best not to get attached. 

Suddenly, CB heard a noise from outside his nest. Someone speaking, though he couldn’t make out the words. Right, he’d thrown his hat across the shed last night. 

Poking his head out of the blankets, CB was a bit surprised to see Wrench kneeling just outside the nest. Right, the crane car had come in the night previously and injected him with something. Now, Wrench was holding out a certain red hat, no needles in sight. Cautiously, CB accepted the hat and put it on his head, securing the audio boosters over his ears and making sure they were turned on. 

“The hell did you hit me with last night?” CB asked, wincing as he got a little squeal of feedback from his boosters. 

“You damaged your boosters throwing your hat last night. I spent the morning fixing them, but they still need calibrating.” Wrench said, looking at the caboose seriously. “And it was just a mild sedative. Your systems almost went into stress shut down, which would have damaged the twins.”

That made CB silent, and he was so grateful to feel another flurry of movement from inside his belly. To know they were actually both still alive and doing well. That he hadn’t hurt them with his breakdown. 

“Now. You have a visitor.” Wrench moved aside to allow Dinah to sit in his place instead, giving the couple a polite distance to talk. 

“Dinah.” CB choked out, staring at the dining car in surprise. He honestly hadn’t expected to ever see her again. “I – I’m sorry. I know that’s not much, but-“

“Wait.” Dinah cut him off. “I just want to say something. I once gave Greaseball a second chance. And he changed. I think you deserve one too. If you want it.”

CB’s eyes went wide. Was she really saying what he thought she was saying?

“But I don’t want to hear that you lied to me ever again.” Dinah didn’t think she could take that. “Just be honest with me, CB.”

“Anything for you.” CB smiled widely, finding himself once again on the verge of tears. Happy ones this time. Lubricating oil ran down his cheeks, and he sniffled. “Sorry, damn pregnancy.”

“Are the twins okay?” Dinah leaned forward, gently peeling back the thick blanket wrapped around the caboose to reveal his round tummy. 

“They’re fine.” CB laughed and took Dinah’s hands to hold them right where the twins were being active. “See? They’re happy that you’re here.”

“I am too.” Dinah leaned forward to kiss the caboose right on the tip of the nose. 

In the corner, Wrench nodded in satisfaction and skated out the door. They were going to be okay.


	8. Off to the Races

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greaseball decides it's time to get back to racing, and Dinah and CB finally get to meet their little ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Greaseball/Electra, Dinah/CB, Wrench, the other components, the kits, appearances from Lube, Buffy, and Parcel
> 
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: Mpreg, birth scene

As the weeks wore on, Greaseball started to feel a little more like his old self. His body was re-configuring back to its pre-pregnancy state, letting him finally skate without pain. He started with short cruises around the yard, leaving Electra to watch the little ones, gradually going out for longer periods. Never too long, though, because the kits still needed to nurse regularly around the clock. 

The day Greaseball and Electra decided to take the kits out of the shed for the first time was a big event for the whole trainyard. Camshaft and Torque clung to Greaseball, using their magnets to hold tightly onto either side of his chest. Torque had his face buried into his carrier’s armpit, overwhelmed by all the new sights and sounds, while Camshaft took in everything with his usual calm acceptance. 

Over on Electra, Sparkplug was perched precariously up on his sire’s shoulderpad squeaking excitedly at every new thing. He kept reaching down to pat Tracer, trying to pull his brother up with him, though Tracer seemed quite happy clinging to Electra’s chestbox instead. 

It was mid-day, so the yard was busy but not overly crowded. As Greaseball skated slowly between the sheds, he narrated the tour to his two little passengers. “And there’s the fuel depot, where we go for our diesel. Ignore the steamers if they make fun of your fuel, nothing wrong with drinking diesel.”

“Hey, boss!” One of the gang, Lube, skated up to the depot to fetch a can. After a moment, he did a double-take. “Oh. Greaseball! You’re up! And you have-“

“Just showing the kits around.” Greaseball shrugged, letting Lube approach to look closer at Camshaft and Torque. The two kits blinked curiously up at the rumble of a familiar diesel engine, Torque even managing a shy smile. 

“They’ve gotten so big!” Lube gasped, wisely stepping back when a growl of Greaseball’s engine let him know he had gotten too close. The gang were endlessly fascinated by the kits, and Lube was amazed that in barely three months the once-tiny infants had nearly doubled in size. 

“They eat very well.” Electra put in, grinning as they reached up to keep Sparkplug from making a flying leap onto Lube. “Nope, you get back here you little rascal.”

As if he’d heard his sire, Torque shifted and made the insistent mewl that meant he was hungry. Greaseball couldn’t keep in a fond smile as he plucked the kit from his chest and shifted to hold Torque in the crook of his arm, letting the little diesel latch onto a teat to nurse. Camshaft, meanwhile, appeared to have fallen sleep against his chest, magnets holding tightly to his carrier’s plating. 

“They eat non-stop, you mean,” Greaseball grumbled without any real ire. He was still working out the best way to feed the kits while on the move, fortunately they weren’t both going for it at the same time. Then he’d have to sit down. Thank god Electra could handle two of the four.

“I guess you might need this, then.” Lube held out another can of diesel, which Greaseball quickly took and downed in one go. His fuel intake had tripled since he was fuelling himself along with three hungry kits. 

“And how’s your charge?” Greaseball asked his mate as they moved on. 

Electra pursed their lips and checked their battery charge. Sparkplug was a little drain of electricity, tiny body running down his battery at lightning speed, and Electra was finding themselves having to plug in much more frequently than they were used to. “I’m fine for now. Will need to recharge a little later though.”

Which would signal their return to the shed. Not a problem, it was good to start small when it came to trips outside. While Sparkplug was happy to spend all day running around and trying new things (until he inevitably ran out of charge and passed out), his siblings weren’t quite so eager. Torque seemed to be on the edge of crying, and Tracer had decided that he was done seeing new things and had his head tucked against Electra’s chestbox. 

“Momma, look!” 

Something hit Greaseball in the kneepads, and he looked down in surprise to see Parcel latched onto his legs. 

“Hi!” Parcel chirped, a broad grin on the coachling’s face. She beamed up at Greaseball, curiously trying to pull herself up to peer at the kits. 

“Parcel, honey.” Buffy finally caught up to her daughter, scooping her up into her arms, “Stop bothering- Oh, Greaseball! You finally dragged yourself out of your shed.”

“Thanks, Buffy.” Greaseball deadpanned, watching as Parcel leaned in to make faces at Camshaft. The little diesel managed a giggle at the funny expressions of the older trainlet, making Torque look up curiously at them both. 

“Well, you’ve been holed up in there for so long, we were all wondering if you would ever come out again.” Buffy leaned over a little to get a better view of the kits, “Now that I see these little cuties, I don’t blame you for keeping them all to yourself.”

Greaseball’s engine rumbled unhappily as she got closer, rolling backwards a little to keep distance between her and his kits. He didn’t outright growl, not with Parcel there, but everything in him was insisting that he not let anyone else near. 

Electra moved closer to their mate, a reassuring presence there at his side. The electric smiled when the rumbling engines calmed, and Sparkplug gave a little chirp as he crawled from his sire’s shoulder down onto his carrier. Greaseball smiled and reached up to pet his son, listening to the tiny electric engine’s pleased chirr as a result. 

As much as Buffy enjoyed teasing and messing with Greaseball, even she didn’t have it in her heart to make fun of how happy he was with his mate and his young. Instead, she just wrapped her arms a little more securely around her own daughter and smiled. 

 

After a while, the two engines and their litter returned to the shed. Greaseball noticeably settled when he reached the familiar environment, finally calming down as he sank down into his nest and gathered the little ones close. Electra always found it a little surprising just how defensive the diesel was at all times, immediately growling and protective the minute anyone got close. The electric engine wasn’t nearly so guarded, and had to wonder if that was just part of being a sire, or if it was a diesel thing, or if it was just a Greaseball thing. 

Even the components weren’t always safe. Just the other morning, Joule had decided to pick up one of the sleeping kits from the nest. Tracer had made an unhappy cry of surprise, and a half-asleep Greaseball instinctually responded. Lunging forward, he bit Joule on the forearm and snatched Tracer back from the dynamite tanker car. Joule had complained about the deep gouges in her plating all morning as Wrench patched her up, though the crane car had little sympathy. 

“You should know better than to just take one of them from the nest while he’s sleeping.” Wrench admonished. She was femme again, a little shorter and softer, but no less gruff when one of her fellow components injured themselves via their own stupidity. 

“But they’re so cute.” Joule whined. “We’re the master’s components. Master can just grab them.”

“They do not whine when Electra grabs them because master is their sire. We must ask permission.” Wrench poked Joule perhaps a little harder than was necessary, making the tanker car hiss. “Greaseball is a private, defensive engine who is easily provoked. He guards his trainlets fiercely.”

“No shit.” Joule muttered, flexing her fingers and making sure that her hand still worked. It hurt, but everything still functioned. After that, though, her and the rest of the components were a little more cautious about how they played with the kits. 

 

After the infamous “bite” incident, Greaseball called over Wrench to talk privately. The breakdown crane assumed it would be something about the kits, and was prepared to give a report of their growth and development. Unexpectedly, though, Greaseball had a different question completely. 

“How long until I can get my abdominal plating back on?” The diesel asked seriously, a hand pressed to his still-soft middle. 

“Wha-?” Wrench stared at him for a moment. The kits were barely three months old, and would be nursing for several months yet. Greaseball still had a gentle curve to his belly, and having a litter suckling from him regularly meant his teats were large and swollen. “You won’t be able to have your plating put back on until the kits are weaned, at least. You can’t be thinking of trying to cut them off early.”

“What? No! Of course not.” Greaseball didn’t mind feeding his litter one bit, it was actually very satisfying to see his young getting their nourishment from his own body. Even if it was a little embarrassing to be seen outside. “I don’t want my plates back on for good. Just for a few hours.”

Now Wrench was even more confused. “What for?”

“Because it’s racing season.” Greaseball said as though it was obvious. “I can’t go out on the track with all this hanging out.” He gestured roughly to his middle. 

“You’re still nursing a litter and you want to try and go racing?” Every time Wrench thought she had seen Greaseball try the dumbest thing ever, he surprised her. 

“The Regionals start next week. I can finally get out and skate fine. I can race.” Greaseball was confident in this. If there was one thing he could do well, it was racing. “I’ve got to get back out there and show ‘em what I’ve got.”

“Three time World Racing Champion and you want to go to the Regionals?” Railroad racing was a complicated system of levels and tiers, with the regionals at the bottom and the world races at the top. Racers on the world stage rarely lowered themselves back down to the regional races. “Why not just wait until the next World races? Or at least the North American finals in two years. The kits will be in their adult frames, and you’ll be back in racing shape.”

“Because I can’t wait that long.” It was clear Greaseball was frustrated. “I got my butt kicked by a steam engine, of all things, and was wrecked at the end of last year’s race. Now I’ve gone off and vanished for months to have kits. I’m sure the rumor mill is going wild. I ain’t gonna let everyone think I’ve gone soft and given up racing to be a breeder. I gotta get out and kick some ass again.”

“Taking time off to start a family is not ‘giving up to be a breeder.’” Wrench rubbed her temples, wishing that Electra would come over and talk to their stubborn mate. 

Greaseball didn’t answer, just staring at the breakdown crane in front of him intensely, and Wrench knew if she didn’t do something for him he’d probably go off somewhere else to be fitted. She sighed, “Fine. I can try to fit your plates back on. It is not going to be comfortable at all, and you will have to take them back off as soon as the race is done.”

Satisfied, Greaseball nodded and went back to his nest to answer the cry of his hungry little ones. That was one task done, now there was just one other thing to do. He needed a racing partner. 

 

There was no doubt that Greaseball could have his pick of the components if he wanted. But a week wasn’t a lot of time to practice with a new partner. To do his best racing, he needed the help of the best race partner. With that in mind, the next day he left the kits with Electra and went next door. 

“Oh, hello Greaseball!” Dinah opened the door at his knock, giving a happy smile when she saw her friend. “What are you doing over here?”

“Can’t I come and visit?” Greaseball entered and closed the door behind him, skating over to sit on the unused berth. “How’re things?”

“Oh, it’s fine.” Dinah went over to the nest and peeled back one of the blankets. “CB, we have a visitor.”

With a faint groan, the caboose emerged from under a pile of blankets in the nest to peer up at Greaseball. He fished his hat out from somewhere in the nest and stuck it on his head irritably. “Oh, it’s just Greaseball. Do I have to get up?”

“No, you don’t have to get up.” Dinah rolled her eyes fondly. “Go back to sleep.” She left the nest to sit next to Greaseball. “Sorry about him. CB has been rather grumpy since he’s been nest-bound.”

“Don’t blame him.” Greaseball couldn’t keep in an amused smirk when he saw the caboose shift tiredly, though. CB had teased him over being big and pregnant so often; it was a little satisfying to see the small freight car in the same position. Now it was CB lying in a nest, uncomfortable and heavy and incapable of settling down. “Almost done, though, right?”

“Wrench says he probably has another week or so.” Dinah was terribly excited for it, and knew CB was too. Though, the caboose was mostly looking forward being able to stand again. “As long as he doesn’t do anything dumb and stays in the nest and lets me take care of him.”

Greaseball couldn’t tell if that was a jab at his poor decision making during his own pregnancy or not. He fiddled with his thumbs in his lap for a moment, before deciding that putting things off wouldn’t change anything. “The Regional Races are next week. I’m gonna enter. And I need a race partner.”

“Wha-“ Dinah stared at the engine, somehow unsurprised that Greaseball could be so thick-headed but still shocked despite herself. “You want to go racing? Look at yourself.”

The diesel cringed, but stood firm, “I know I’m a bit heavier now, and out of shape, but you know I can still beat all those local yahoos that always do the local races. I just need a partner, and to race at my best I need the best racin’ partner there is.”

In another time, Dinah would’ve flattered to be called the best racing partner in the league. But priorities had changed a little in the last year. “What about your kits? What will they do while you’re out there racing?”

“I’m sure Electra can handle them for a little while. And the components.” Greaseball trusted his mate in that, at least. Electra hadn’t shown any sign of wanting to race in the regionals, considering anything lesser than the World Finals beneath them. “It ain’t like I’ll be gone a week or something. I’ve still got at least enough rep that I don’t have to deal with qualifying heats or any of that shit. Just the final heat, where I kick everyone’s ass, and that’s it.”

“If it’ll be that easy, why are you bothering at all?”

“Because if I’m not a famous, race-winning engine then what am I?” Greaseball growled in frustration. He had been top of the world for so long, and now he felt . . . old. Obsolete. 

Dinah reached up and grabbed him by the cheeks, staring seriously into his eyes. “You’re a father, and a loving mate, and a friend. Not everything in the world is about racing.”

For so long, Greaseball had defined himself completely on the basis of his racing prowess. He wasn’t sure he knew how to re-define himself based these new factors in his life. Even though his kits were important to him, more than anything else. And, begrudgingly, he could admit that Electra and the components meant just as much. Still- “So, will you race with me?”

Dinah gave an exasperated sigh and threw up her hands. 

“Oh just say yes already.” CB suddenly grumbled from his nest. “You know he’ll keep asking until you do.”

Dinah looked at her boyfriend in surprise. “Are you sure, hon? You could have the twins any time now; I’d rather stay here with you.” Though their relationship was still a little strained, Dinah truly was concerned for the well being of the caboose and the trainlets he carried.

“We are fine.” CB insisted. If he couldn’t go out racing, somebody had to be there for him. To make sure no foul-play occurred, except what was already pre-planned of course. The races would no doubt be much less entertaining if Greaseball truly kept his word and played clean, though it would make Dinah happy. “Go out, have fun, we’ll be here when you get back.”

“Well, alright.” Racing was very exciting, and Dinah would see if Greaseball was capable of keeping his promises. Plus, someone had to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. “I’ll go to the races with you. But one dirty trick, and I’m gone.”

 

Everything was settled then. A week later, the railway was getting ready for the regionals. They were being held at the West End yard, where there were plenty of young engines wanting to strut their stuff, and was drawing rolling stock from the whole tri-state area for the competition.

Fortunately for Greaseball, despite his loss the year previous he still had enough clout and standing to forgo all the early eliminating heats and proceed straight to the final. A good thing too, Wrench had fitted Greaseball’s abdominal plating back on that morning, shaking her head all the time, and the diesel was definitely feeling the ache. The breakdown crane hadn’t lied when she said it wouldn’ be comfortable, she’d been forced to lean hard on Greaseball just to secure down the armor pieces. 

Years of practice let Greaseball bury the pain as he shrugged on his final outer pieces, relishing in the sturdy shoulder pads and decorated torso piece. He finally looked like his old self again, even if he didn’t quite feel it yet. 

Kneeling down in his nest, Greaseball fondly ran a hand over the heads of each of his little kits. The four squeaked and squirmed in confusion, not understanding why their carrier was leaving them. Electra joined them in the nest, gathering each up and kissing them in turn. 

“I will take care of them.” The electric engine promised. “Do try to come back in one piece.”

“I’ll be back soon.” Greaseball held in a grunt of pain as he got to his wheels and left the shed. 

Outside, Wrench and Dinah waited for him.

“I still think this is a bad idea.” Wrench muttered to him as Dinah hitched on. 

“I’ll be fine.” Greaseball rolled his eyes and set off down the track. Wrench just shook her head and retreated into the shed. She’d be spending the day with CB, watching the pregnant caboose just in case anything happened. The race was being broadcast on the radio, so those left waiting at home wouldn’t miss a thing. 

 

To make it to the West End yard, Greaseball transformed for the first time in months. Back to his engine body, with Dinah hitched behind him. The hot ache in his midsection didn’t ease, but it felt so good to be back on all his wheels again. Pounding down the track at speed again. 

Blowing his horn loudly to announce his arrival, Greaseball relished in the stares that he received as he changed shape and strutted into the yard. There were whispers and murmurs, engines and cars peering curiously at the pair. Probably trying to see if the rumors were true, if Greaseball the World Champion really had gotten pregnant and had kids. Well, they’d see no sign of that side of him today. 

Normally, this was when Dinah clutched him close and gave him a kiss to place her claim. But things had changed, and the dining car settled for just placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“Well?” Greaseball asked loudly, looking at the gathered rolling stock, “Are ya gonna stand and stare, or are we gonna have a race? I know some of you have thoughts of being the next champion, after last year’s races, but I’m here ta tell you that I’m still on top!”

“That’s not what we hear!” A young diesel engine yelled back, anonymous in the crowd. “Way folks tell it, you’re a real bottom!”

Greaseball snarled, “Oh that’s what they say, huh? Talk’s cheap, let’s race!”

As everyone made their way down to the starting line, Dinah bit her lip with worry. It had been a long time since she’d seen Greaseball this worked up, normally he took all the heckling and pre-race jeers in stride. “Hey, don’t let them get to you.” She whispered, gripping his couplers tightly. 

“They ain’t ‘getting to me’.” Greaseball said hotly, hunching down a bit into a racing stance. “Whatever, they’re getting beat today, either way.”

A human voice from above began the countdown, broadcast over speakers all over the yard, and all the surroundings faded away. Greaseball’s focus narrowed onto the shining twin rails before him. At the cry of “GO!”, the engines lept from the starting gate as though they had been fired from a gun. A few hundred tons of steel, a few thousand horsepower of engine, thundering down the track. Each competing to be first. 

It was a thrill, to finally be running at his full potential again. The exhilaration overrode the pain in his midsection, the concern about how his kits were, it wiped away all his worries and left only the thrill of the race behind. 

In the end, it wasn’t really much of a contest. The decline of passenger rail in the US meant that the new, young engines weren’t nearly as fast as they thought they were. Never dreamed of reaching the speeds that their older counterparts had. 

Greaseball was at the head of the pack, finish line in sight, when his radio crackled to life. Wrench’s irritated voice filtered through the old system. “I hear you’re winning. Once you have, get your butt back here now. The caboose has gone into labor.”

The radio clicked off again, Wrench not bothering to wait for a response, and Greaseball dug up a final burst of speed from somewhere deep within. As he blew across the finish line, he didn’t slow an ounce. Instead, he just headed for the track that would take them back to Apollo-Victoria. 

“Greaseball?” Dinah exclaimed in confusion, having to yell over the sound of the rushing wind as she was dragged down the mainline. She never knew the diesel to miss out on the glory of the winner’s circle. “What are you doing?”

“We gotta get back.” Greaseball panted. He’d been able to put the growing pain in his middle aside during the race, but it was coming back full force now. Still, he had the presence of mind to send a short call to one of his gang to go up and accept the trophy for him before focusing back on the current task. “You’re about to be a mommy.”

“Wha-“ It took Dinah a moment to realize just what Greaseball was saying. “You mean- the twins! We have to get home. Go Greaseball, go!”

“I’m. Working on it.” Greaseball fought for more speed, the scenery flying by in a vaguely familiar blur. They blew past other trains, leaping from rail to rail at full speed to avoid the working engines and cars. 

Reaching the diesel sheds, Greaseball slammed on the brakes and narrowly avoided crashing head-first into the wall. (Distantly, he made a note to himself to have his brakes serviced.) Dinah immediately uncoupled and rushed into the shed she shared with CB, while Greaseball bent double and finally gave in to the pain that had plagued him all day. 

 

Inside the shed, CB was nestled deep in his blankets as Wrench attended to him. The caboose’s face was bright red with exertion, nearly as intense as the glowing of his signal lamps, and Dinah quickly fell to her knees to be at his side. CB immediately gripped her hand tightly, squeezing with the next contraction. 

“How. Was the race?” CB managed a shaky smile as he greeted his girlfriend. 

“We won.” Dinah shook her head at the question. Trust him to focus on that. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. How are you? How are the twins?”

“Look at you, winning races.” CB’s weak chuckle turned into a drawn-out groan. Though he had many, many years of experience concealing pain and weakness, this was an entirely new experience for him. And. It was a scary one. He was glad Dinah was back. “The twins are. Very insistent to make today their birthday.”

Things weren’t nearly what they had planned on. Their shed was still being rebuilt, meaning they had to continue living in the half-completed diesel shed extension until the twins were old enough for the nest to be moved, and their relationship still wasn’t back where it had once been, but sometimes things didn’t go as planned. Sometimes, they just happened. 

“I can’t wait to meet them.” Dinah gave her boyfriend a reassuring smile and reached down with her free hand to rub along his belly. One of the twins kicked under her hand, and CB hissed when another contraction forced the other one lower. 

“You’re ready, push with the next contraction.” Wrench suddenly spoke up from down near his knees, interrupting the couple. The repair truck was quite pleased that this birth was going much smoother than the last one she had attended. Of course, no labor was easy, but it was nice to be in a safe, private environment with everything she needed at her hands. CB had dilated nicely, was as relaxed as one could be when in labor, and things would hopefully continue to go smoothly. 

CB nodded and gritted his teeth, pushing for everything he was worth. He could feel the first trainlet moving downwards; and there was a burning, stretching sensation that did not ease with the contraction. 

“Starlight.” CB panted, huffing and falling back against the pillows of the nest. “How did Greaseball manage this four times?”

“Sheer adrenaline.” Wrench responded drily. “I don’t recommend it. Come on, keep pushing.”

The caboose stuck his tongue out in response, but obeyed her command. Time seemed to slow as his focus narrowed, shutting out the world around him to focus all his energy and strength into pushing his firstborn into the world. Dinah was murmuring encouragements next to him, but CB couldn’t take the effort to understand what she was saying. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, there was a sudden wave of relief followed by the squeal of a newborn trainlet. 

“There we go,” Wrench quickly toweled off the newborn and handed her over. “It’s a coach.”

“A coach.” CB slumped back against the pillows supporting him, awkwardly cradling his daughter to his chest. She was so tiny, and CB didn’t even know how to hold her. He felt a sudden wave of panic, realizing that he was, in fact, responsible for this little life he had somehow managed to make. CB had brought pain and death to many, had cheated death several times himself, but this was the first time he had managed to make life. It was a good feeling, somewhere under the fear. He had a lot of work to do to try and make up for even a fraction of what he had done. 

Oblivious to her carrier’s fear, the coachling sought out a nipple and began to nurse contently. Dinah sighed fondly at the sight. “Oh look at her, CB. She’s perfect.”

“You should have a bit of downtime before the contractions start again for baby number two.” Wrench set the soiled towel aside and brushed off her apron before standing. “I’m going to go check on a certain idiot diesel, call for me when you feel contractions beginning again.”

The pair of cars nodded absently in response, hardly able to look up from their newborn. 

 

Shaking her head, Wrench went next door to check on Greaseball and was surprised to see the diesel laying on the floor curled up like he was in pain. Krupp was crouching next to him, a look of concern on his face. In Wrench’s absence, the armaments car had removed Greaseball’s abdominal armor, but the diesel was apparently still experiencing intense pain. 

Electra had come out of the shed as well, presumably leaving the other components to watch the kits, and was cradling their mate’s head gently. 

“What is wrong with him?” Electra demanded as they caught sight of Wrench.

Muttering curses under her breath, Wrench scanned the diesel and felt along his abdomen with her hands. When her palms reached a point just above his pelvis, Greaseball cried out in pain and nearly kicked her. 

“Shit.” Wrench quickly got out a sedative, moving to knock Greaseball out before he could hurt himself further, then pulled out a full tool set. She had told him it was too dangerous to do anything this energetic, and he hadn’t listened, and now he was badly injured. 

“What is it?” Electra gently stroked their mate’s hair as Greaseball shuddered and went completely limp, hands shaking slightly with worry and fear. 

“He’s ruptured something, and is bleeding internally.” Wrench removed the diesel’s pelvic plating, exposing the reproductive systems underneath. Things were coated in reddish fluid, a mix of diesel, hydraulic fluid, and lubricant. His gestation chamber was still swollen to three times its normal, pre-pregnancy, size, putting pressure on everything else in his abdominal cavity. Then, with all that racing and vigorous activity, lines already under stress had broken.

The difficult part was locating the broken lines. Wrench’s hands were soon buried in the diesel’s body; finding the damaged parts and fishing them out so she could run new tubing in their place. Electra watched the procedure with sharp eyes, as though fearing Wrench would somehow stumble the second they looked away, and Krupp knelt attentively next to his master just in case anything was needed. 

There was no sound except Wrench’s muttered swearing in the forward part of the shed as she worked, until finally the crane car sighed and declared the job done. “Well, he’ll live to be stupid another day. Krupp, get me some rags so I can clean this mess up.”

The other component immediately responded, dashing off to fetch a pile of rags that Wrench could use to mop up the fluid coating Greaseball’s internals. Then, Wrench cleaned off her own hands before putting the diesel’s pelvic plating back on. 

As gently as possible, Wrench and Electra picked up Greaseball and carried him back to his nest. Volta and Purse kept the kits safely out of the way, while Joule dashed in to arrange the blankets and pillows to allow the unconscious engine to recline comfortably. 

“He is not allowed to move for at least two weeks.” Wrench instructed. To reinforce this, she disabled his movement servos from the chest down. Now, he really would have to stay put. 

“Two weeks?” Electra couldn’t imagine getting Greaseball to sit still for that long. “Is that really necessary?”

“You know as well as I do that if I tell him to take it easy, he will do no such thing. If he wants to heal, actually heal, then he needs to sit still and let his repair systems integrate the work I just did.” 

“And the kits?” Volta was having trouble holding Camshaft and Torque in her arms, both kits were whining and kicking as they reached out stubby hands towards their carrier. He had left them all day, and right then the little ones wanted nothing more than to curl into his comfortable side. 

“Well, we certainly can’t keep them away. They aren’t heavy enough to aggravate the repairs.” Wrench picked up Camshaft and very gently set him onto Greaseball’s belly. The kit gave a happy squeak and flopped down on the warm, soft surface. Torque was quickly added, then Tracer and Sparkplug, until Greaseball had all four nuzzled into him. “But –no- vigorous activity.” Wrench pointedly directed that statement at her master.

Electra scoffed, taking a light blanket and draping it over their mate and little ones. It wasn’t like the couple had exactly had a sex life since the kits were born anyway. Electra hoped that they’d be old enough to be babysat by someone else for an evening soon, but it seemed any hope of that was on hold for at least another two weeks. 

Satisfied that Greaseball was taken care of, Wrench went to clean up her tools when she got a ping on her communications system. Right. Because there was the –other- patient she was attending to today. Because the Starlight Express apparently found it funny to have everything happen all at once. With a long-suffering sigh, Wrench got to her wheels and skated out. 

 

Dinah was sitting cross-legged next to her boyfriend, cradling their newborn daughter in one arm so that she had a free hand to hold onto CB’s with. The caboose had held their coachling until she finished nursing and fell asleep, but had been forced to pass her to his girlfriend as the contractions returned. In that time, they had at least been able to bat around some of the names they’d discussed over the last few months. The couple decided on Vistah for their coachling, to represent the sights she’d see as a fine passenger coach, after discarding a few others. The other twin would need a name as well, but that had to wait until they saw what sort of car the trainlet was. 

Wrench reappeared, looking a little more disheveled and irritated than when she had left earlier, and knelt down to have a look between CB’s legs. “How are the contractions?”

“About where they were last time, just before Vistah popped out.” CB huffed, squeezing Dinah’s hand and digging his heels into the nest. He was looking forward to getting this over with. “I don’t even get a hello? Quite the- nnnnnn – quite the bedside manner you got there, Doc.”

Wrench shot him an unamused glare. “I spent my ‘break’ running new fluid lines in Greaseball’s pelvis because he’s an idiot and tried to race three months after giving birth.” 

“Oh my god.” Dinah gasped, clutching Vistah closer. “Is he okay?”

“Stupidity isn’t deadly on its own, so he’ll live.” Wrench shook her head. One more dumb incident from anyone in this yard and she was welding everyone’s asses to their berths. “Anyway. Hopefully, the second twin will come out a bit faster than the first. You’re plenty dilated, push when you’re ready.”

CB didn’t know if he’d ever be ready, but had no choice. The next contraction brought with it the irresistible urge to push, and he was helpless to resist the command of his body. He took a deep breath and bore down, feeling the trainlet inside him moving lower. CB was already so tired, but he couldn’t rest yet. Not until –both- the twins were in his arms. 

Fortunately, the second one did indeed come a little easier than the first. Soon enough, Wrench was cleaning off a squealing trainlet and wrapping him up in fresh swaddling. “And there w e go. You’ve got a coachling, and a little cabooselet.”

CB’s shoulders slumped slightly when he heard the second twin was a caboose, though he couldn’t bring himself to be disappointed when he saw the ruddy little face with a whisp of red hair and tiny glass signal lamps set into each cheek. 

Dinah moved closer, to let Vistah curl against her brother, and sighed. The colors were starting to come in on the coachling, faint blue just like her mommy, but Vistah appeared to have gotten the same red hair as her brother. They made quite the pair. 

“What should we name him?” Dinah asked. They hadn’t really talked caboose names, CB had always changed the subject when it was brought up, but wanted to give her boyfriend the chance to choose something anyway. 

“Red.” CB said after a moment, the first thing that came to mind. It just seemed to suit the infant freight car, who’s silver plating was beginning to darken to a traditional caboose red. “I think. That’d be good.” He looked to his girlfriend for confirmation.

“It’s fine.” Dinah smiled. “That’ll be a great name.”

Satisfied with that, CB leaned back into pillows of his nest and immediately fell into an exhausted sleep.


	9. First Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody wanted Pearl/Rusty first time. so here we go. 
> 
> Pairing: Pearl/Rusty  
> Rating: explicit  
> Warnings: none

Rusty felt his fire flare in a mix of nerves and excitement as hands caressed his thighs. He and Pearl had been cuddling in his shed, and now things were getting a bit heated. Though the couple had occasionally discussed sex, they had never actually gotten that far. Tonight might finally be the night. 

“So.” Pearl traced one fingertip in little circles on Rusty’s codpiece, making the engine buck his hips helplessly into the touch. “Do you want to try . . . more, tonight?”

“Y-yes.” Rusty felt like his boiler might explode if he didn’t get some kind of release. “Starlight, yes. I- I need-” He couldn’t get out a complete sentence through the haze invading his mind, though he at least managed to concentrate enough to find the clasps of Pearl’s skirt. Fumbling with them for a moment, he divested his girlfriend of the garment and threw it off the berth in the direction of the corner. 

“Oh, Rusty.” Pearl eagerly opened her covers, revealing her slick valve and delicate, ornamental spike. 

“- oh,” Rusty’s eyes went a little wide as he looked down at his girlfriend’s spike. It was a pale pink, with overlapping panels like the petals of a flower. His own seemed shabby in comparison, fairly short and plain in a dark brown color like his hair. 

He suddenly felt rather shy as his own spike pressurized, “Sorry, I know I’m not much-“

“Shh.” Pearl shushed him by leaning forward for a kiss. At the same time, she reached a hand down and wrapped it around both their spikes, making Rusty give a muffled “mmffff!” in response. 

“H-have you d-done this before?” Rusty stuttered, whining as he tried to thrust into the warmth of Pearl’s hand. His own hands were clenched in her long, fluffy hair, running through the curly strands and probably tangling them to no end. 

“Just once.” Pearl admitted. “With Buffy and Ashley. They wanted to make sure my first time was with other coaches.”

Well, that was better than her having been with Greaseball or Electra. Just the thought of either of the two racers made Rusty’s fire burn hotter. He was suddenly distracted from those thoughts when the fingers of Pearl’s other hand went lower, and were suddenly touching something that Rusty had never really touched before. He had, on occasion, played with his spike, but his valve was not something he had messed with. 

“Is that okay?” Pearl was a little concerned when Rusty froze, wide eyed, as she dipped one finger into his valve and rubbed the slick, soft metal inside. She thought valve play felt good, but had heard that engines weren’t as receptive to it as coaches and other cars. 

“Just f- f- fineee,” The end of the word rose into a whine as Rusty’s vision went white. The heat and pressure in his groin, completely separate from that of his boiler and firebox, coiled, increased, and suddenly released. 

“Oh!” Pearl drew back her hand sharply, finding it, along with her abdomen, abruptly coated in silver cum. That hadn’t lasted as long as she had hoped. 

“S-sorry.” Rusty panted, looking downward at his lap rather sheepishly. His spike had depressurized and retracted, signaling that it was quite done for now. He could usually go for longer than that when by himself, but having someone else’s hands down there was a completely different experience. 

“It’s okay.” Pearl kissed his cheek, though she was very aware that she hadn’t gotten off yet. “Here, how about you help me, and we’ll try again later?”

“Okay.” Rusty let her guide his hand down to her own valve, and set about learning how to pleasure his girlfriend. They had time to figure this all out.


	10. Talking it Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AKA: Two nerds discover they have feelings
> 
> Set the morning after CB's labor/Greaseball injuring himself racing. 
> 
> Characters: Greaseball, Electra, Dinah  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: None

Waking up from unconsciousness disoriented and in pain was becoming an unfortunate habit. Greaseball groaned softly as he stirred, opening his eyes and blinking several times to try and clear his vision. He was back in his shed, the cushioning fabric under his body indicating that someone had put him in his nest. 

There was a chirp, and Greaseball looked down to see Sparkplug sprawled on his chest. The kit tilted his head, regarding his carrier curiously, and chirped again. 

“Hey,” The diesel lifted up one hand and affectionately ruffled his son’s sparse hair. Sparkplug chirred in response, leaning into the touch happily. “Where’re your brothers?” Craning his neck, Greaseball spotted Camshaft and Torque asleep on his belly, with Tracer curled up on the blanket next to his head. 

Sitting crosslegged next to the nest, Electra watched as a fond smile came over Greaseball’s face. The diesel looked almost like a different engine as he gently stroked each of his litter, gaining a happy hum or purr from the kits in turn. Electra felt very privileged to see this side of their mate, which no one else got to view. Even the components had been ushered from the shed, so that Electra could be there to address Greaseball’s reckless behavior alone. For a moment, though, the electric engine was content to sit and watch their mate dote over their offspring. 

After a few minutes, Greaseball had determined that the kits had received an appropriate amount of love and attempted to sit up. His legs, however, refused to respond. Greaseball frowned in confusion, using his arms to support himself as he tried to scootch into a more upright position. It, predictably, did not work. Greaseball, however, continued to try until Electra sighed and spoke up. 

“It won’t work.” Electra moved closer and helped shift their mate to be more comfortable. “Wrench disabled everything below your chest. You burst several lines, and she had quite a time repairing you.”

“What?!” Greaseball tried again to move his legs, but stopped when he realized that his struggles, along with his raised voice, had disturbed the kits. Immediately, he ran his hands soothingly over the little engines, who were whining in distress. “Oh, shhh. Shhh. I’m sorry, it’s okay.” 

“You really hurt yourself yesterday,” Electra said softly, picking up Sparkplug to cradle their son in their lap. “Wrench is convinced that if she does not physically prevent you from moving, then you’ll never sit still long enough to heal.”

Begrudgingly, Greaseball had to admit the crane car had a point there. “How long do I need to stay here, then?”

“Two weeks.” Electra lifted up Sparkplug when the little electric’s whining changed from unhappy to hungry. 

“Two weeks?!” Greaseball’s yell was mirrored by four cries, and he cut himself off with a frustrated growl. He couldn’t get truly and properly angry, not with his kits there in the nest with him. Taking a deep breath, he throttled back his engine to a softer purr instead. When he finally heard an answering purr from the three kits lying atop him, Greaseball sighed and let his head fall back into the blankets. “Two fucking weeks.”

“Wrench really does know what she is doing. Her . . . abrasiveness is the trade off for being the best breakdown van money can buy.” Electra commented. It was for this reason that Wrench was the only component Electra allowed to speak over them. “If she says that you need two weeks of rest, then I will sit here and ensure that you get it.”

Greaseball grumbled and turned his face away, attempting to turn his body as well before giving up when his hips stubbornly stayed put where they were. “Great. I can’t even roll over.”

Rolling their eyes, Electra reached down and helped turn Greaseball’s hips until he was lying on his side. “Better?”

Greaseball grunted and hunched his shoulders, gently tugging the kits closer to him.

“You have no one to blame but yourself.” Electra chastised, setting down Sparkplug with the rest of the kits and laying down to spoon their mate from behind. 

“I know that.” Greaseball growled, attempting to turn further away and failing. 

“Was the race worth it, at least?” Electra wasn’t about to let him off that easily. “Leaving me, the little ones, and giving yourself internal injuries to win a race?”

“Yes.” Greaseball responded stubbornly. “Rubbin’ it in those young engine’s faces that I still got it and can still smoke any of them was worth it.”

“I can’t believe you.” Frustrated, Electra sat back up and rubbed their forehead. How had they fallen in love with the most stubborn engine in existence? “All of this just to show off to some stupid local hicks?”

“I figured another racer would understand.” Greaseball managed to twist enough to look at Electra over his shoulder. “When you hit that finish line and everyone cheers and even the losers have ta give you some respect. Provin’ you’re better than them.”

“I don’t need to win some dumb race to know I’m better than everyone else.” Electra scoffed. “I only bless the races with my presence so that everyone can bask in my glory.”

“Which is why you threw a fit when you lost.”

“Well if a fucking god is going to come down and help a steam engine beat obviously more qualified racers, then this whole racing business is clearly a scam.” Electra had overheard Rusty bragging about his godly assist and was still rather sore over it. 

“It’s important to me, even if it isn’t to you.” With that, Greaseball turned away and laid his head back down in the blankets of his nest. 

“Fine.” Electra stood up and retrieved their chestbox from off the berth, clipping it back on and brushing some dust from their plating. “I’m going out for awhile. If you need anything, or if Sparkplug gets hungry, you can radio me.” 

With that, Electra skated out of the shed. Talking to Greaseball right now would clearly be pointless. 

“I take it he’s not too happy about his enforced bedrest.” Wrench commented idly as her master emerged from the roundhouse. All of the components were milling outside and could easily read Electra’s bad mood.

“It’s not that.” Electra rubbed at their eyes tiredly. “I think Greaseball would be willing to kill himself just to win a race.”

“At least he’s pretty.” Joule shrugged. “Not much in the brain department, but boy he’s a looker.”

“Leave me.” Electra waved their hand dismissively toward the components. Normally, talking things over with the other parts of themselves was great for decision-making, but today it wasn’t going to be much help.

The components obediently skated away, leaving Electra alone to brood. 

Well, at least, Electra assumed they were alone. The metallic clack of wheels on rails alerted the electric engine to the presence of another, and they turned to see Dinah just leaving her own shed. 

“Shouldn’t you be with your mate and your newborns?” Electra questioned as the dining car skated closer. 

“I could ask you the same question.” Dinah teased back, though she became more serious when she saw the mood Electra was in. “CB’s just hungry, I’m headed to the fuel depot. Is everything okay?” 

“It’s just Greaseball.” Electra shook their head, “He’s so stubborn, he won’t even listen to me. He won’t listen to anybody!”

“He’s always been like that,” Dinah commented, shaking her head. “Ever since I’ve known him at least. Stubborn and bull-headed as any engine that ever was. He’s not hurt too badly ‘cause of the race, is he?”

“He’ll live.” Electra sighed. “But Wrench disabled his movement servos from the chest down to keep him from re-injuring himself. He’s officially on bedrest for the next two weeks.”

“Oh, I bet he’ll hate that.” Dinah laughed a little bit. “Greasey never was much for sitting still.”

“He’s already made it clear how unhappy he is about the situation. But he just can’t seem to stop injuring himself!” Electra threw up their hands. “I can’t believe him, going racing while he’s still barely recovered from giving birth. After a very high-stress labor too! What was he thinking?”

“He wasn’t.” Dinah said bluntly. “I saw how he was when he came to try and talk to me. The only thing on his mind was winning. I went with him cause if I’d said no, he would’ve just gone and gotten some other coach instead. Even when we first met, Greaseball was like that. When it was race time, it was like nothin’ else mattered to him. I think he was different before, when he was still in regular service and lived with his brothers and had friends, but that was a long time ago.”

Electra frowned, clearly having a hard time understanding how racing could be that important to an engine. 

“Look, you’re less than a decade old, right?” Dinah placed a hand on the electric engine’s shoulder. “You don’ know what it’s like to be an old model. To be told if you stop winnin’ races, it’s the scrappers torch for you. Even now, I worry sometimes that if I don’t do good enough, I’ll get tossed out. Most railroads don’ use dining cars anymore. Greaseball’s the last of the Union Pacific E-6’s, nearly the last of the U-pac E-units altogether. And being the last, it ain’t easy.”

Her piece said, Dinah skated away towards the fuel depot and left Electra truly alone. 

 

Electra didn’t know what it was like to be the last of a kind. After all, the electric engine was one of a kind. The first, and probably only, of an experimental type. They had always been proud of this fact. It had never occurred to Electra that being one of a kind because all others were gone might feel different. After a few minutes more, Electra rubbed their hands over their face and went back inside. 

In the darkened back room of the shed, Greaseball was still curled up around their sons. Electra almost thought he was asleep, until a hoarse voice came from the nest. 

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” Electra sank down next to the pile of blankets, unsure if they’d heard correctly. 

“I said. .. ‘I’m. Sorry.’” Greaseball turned a little to glance at his mate, facial expression making it look like he’d swallowed a lemon. Still, he had managed to get the words out. 

After Electra had left, Greaseball had used the time to do something he rarely did: think. Before, as a racer for Union Pacific, injuries or accidents had never been much of a worry. There was little to lose. His racing status, sure, maybe his life. But no friends. He had lackies. Admirers who secretly hoped he’d fall so they could take his place. But not true friends, or family. There had been no one who would miss him if he was gone, and nothing to aim for except recapturing that high of winning. 

That wasn’t true anymore. Greaseball had looked down at the infants asleep next to him and realized that they depended on him for everything right now. And, even after they were grown up and moved on to other railroads, he still had his mate to think about. Electra hadn’t talked much about those terrible moments when it seemed like Greaseball had been killed in the yard fire, but according to everyone else, the electric engine had been absolutely distraught. With some guilt, Greaseball realized he had pretty much done the same thing again to Electra the day before. 

“I. Am also sorry.” Electra managed, struggling a moment to get the words out. “I’m still angry at you, but I talked with your dining car outside and I think I understand now.”

“You talked to Dinah?” Greaseball said in surprise. 

“Yes. And she enlightened me about how little I know about you.” Gently, Electra reached out and rubbed a hand on Greaseball’s shoulder. “How about we change that?”

“What do you want to know?” Greaseball didn’t particularly want to talk about his past, but felt he owed Electra something.

“Tell me about your brothers.”

Greaseball closed his eyes, then cleared his throat and began to speak. “I was the A-unit to a pair of B-units. Their names were Crankcase and Driveshaft-“


End file.
